The Fight
by AllThingsInsane
Summary: Sequel to "Into the Fire." Things have calmed down since Sam's abduction, but when Dean is haunted by vivid nightmares repeatedly, he turns to Caleb for advice on what to do, but even he doesn't know the meaning of what is going on. Meanwhile, another monster of the human sort raises its ugly head, and the consequences could be devastating for all of them.
1. Chapter 1

Dean was _not_ a morning person—the sun rose much too early, before he had had the time to reconcile himself to the fact that another, blissful night was over to be replaced with the harshness and cruelty of the day, and the other more pressing issue was that his body and mind weren't _ready _to face whatever hell awaited him.

Rolling over on his side, his face pressed tightly, comfortingly against his pillow, he breathed deeply, sleepily, as he kept his eyes squeezed tightly shut, hoping to at _least _put on the illusion that he was still sleeping so his body would perhaps get the idea, and join in for real.

But that would have been too easy.

His mind was also rapidly joining the party that he would have paid gold _not _to have been invited to, as he groaned softly, palming his face blearily as he struggled to keep himself under control, struggled to float back under into peaceful oblivion.

Not that he didn't _enjoy _the day once it had begun. It was getting there that was the issue. To him, there was simply no amount of hours in the night that would make up for all the sleep that he had lost over the last few weeks, as he stayed stationary, hoping against hope to fall back to sleep.

The nightmares that had recently assaulted his mind hadn't helped either. It was almost always the same one, hardly changing in position or clarity, except for when his cruel subconscious introduced another component, one that made it all that more vivid and brutal in his mind.

It was something that he had tried hard to rid his body of, but had so far been unsuccessful, as he contemplated confiding in one of his guardians about the odd dreams. Not that he liked to whine about something that was out of their control, but it would be nice to have someone telling him that he was either crazy and that dreams didn't send messages, or that his mind was trying to tell him something serious.

Either possibility was more confusing and frightening than the last.

Caleb was his first choice of confidante.

For nearly as long as he could remember—nine years—the two had shared a beautiful, unbreakable bond with each other that had been born out of a mutual love and respect, and of hunting. Caleb had been his sole trainer in all things supernatural and working out, ever since he had stumbled upon the horrible truth.

Beyond the hunting, Caleb had been his rock. Someone that had always been brutally honest with him, had always given him the truth no matter how devastating or harsh it was, and someone that had always been there with a firm but loving shoulder to cry on when all the unforgivable horrors of the world had simply been too much.

It was something that Dean respected immensely about him—even when a lie would have been better than facing the truth, Caleb always knew how Dean thought, always knew that Dean always preferred hearing something straight, as opposed to a condensed version of the truth.

If he was going to tell _anyone _about the nightmares he had been having, it would be Caleb. But first he had to work his mind around to the idea of actually _getting _out of bed first.

No small feat with how tired he was that morning.

"Morning, kiddo."

"What?" he said, when the door to his bedroom had been flung open, and Caleb had marched in, turning on the painfully bright lights, and perching himself on the edge of his bed.

"Time to wake up," Caleb said, as if it should be the most natural, obvious thing in the world to him. "Come on," he egged, pulling back Dean's Batman—covers.

"_No_," Dean said, with a cross between a laugh and a groan, as he swatted Caleb's hands away. "You're horrible, leave me alone."

"What's the matter?" Caleb asked, momentarily forgoing the teasing tone he had put on when he had first walked into the room, to replace it with one of genuine concern and confusion, as he looked down at the teenager in front of him. "Didn't you sleep?"

"No," Dean said, as he turned over on his side, swallowing thickly against the lump in his throat that had been born out of combined thirst and emotion.

"Why not?"

"I don't know—take it up with my mind."

"Come on, Dean," Caleb said gently, as he effortlessly turned Dean over on his side so he would have no choice but to face his guardian. "Spill your gut, boy."

"It's nothing-" Dean began, avoiding Caleb's kind eyes. "Just drop it."

"No. See, the thing is, I _know _you, and if something is _really _bothering you, odds are I need to know about it, and odds are you'll feel better once you spill."

One of the perks of their bond was that they each knew the other _so _well—but sometimes, like now when Dean wasn't sure how to broach the subject, it was an annoyance, even though he knew that Caleb's prodding was one of concern and love, and not meant to upset or irritate him.

"It's just," Dean said, trying to come up with the right words to covey the strangeness of the dreams, and how they had continued to haunt him the last several days. "A _dream_. That's all," he added.

"What's the dream about?"

"I don't know—nothing really, but it's the feeling I _get _whenever I have it. This feeling of something...bad happening, you know?"

"I do," Caleb quietly said. "I know that feeling _very _well."

Call it parental concern for the boys, or just paranoia from their latest experiences with the yellow-eyed demon, but Caleb was _always _on edge lately, always waiting for the next hit to strike just for the simple fact that he would be _prepared. _

"Do you think it means anything?" Dean asked quietly, as he twisted his blanket around his finger. "These dreams of mine?"

"I...don't know," Caleb admitted quietly. "I think we should try to track them as much as we can, how often and what you see in them, if anything changes in them or not."

In his experiences with the supernatural, Caleb had never known a demon to possess the ability to control dreams, and manifest something out of them that he wanted someone to see. Normally, a demon would have no problem conducting his dealings in the waking world, without having to resort to other means.

"I know. Just with everything happening lately..."

"I know," Caleb said quietly, as he touched his knee comfortingly.

In the last few weeks they had had to deal with the abduction of Dean's little brother, Sam, and a week long search that had ended, miraculously, with his successful recovery, but they were all on edge as a result of the near-death experience, and had been hiding out at a safe house that Bobby had brought them to.

"Do you think we're okay?" Dean asked, his hazel eyes begging with Caleb to be truthful about this one, too.

"I don't see why we're not," Caleb said. "The demon hasn't made any new mind trips to Sam lately, and all the wards are still intact, and I think for the time being, it's going okay."

"Good."

"For the time being" meant little in their world. At any seconds, things could change, and it was that part of the life that Dean was so anxious about. It was the last thing he needed, any upheavals or concerns. It had been emotionally traumatizing to search so frantically for his brother, and not know if he would be alive or not, if their efforts would have been wasted.

"If you _want_, you can camp up here for a little while longer."

"No, it's okay. Maybe it will do me some good to get downstairs and annoy the crap out of Sam."

"Yeah," Caleb said with a laugh. "Let's see who can annoy who the fastest. Your brother's in rare form tonight."

"Well, that makes it even better," Dean said with a mock-serious tone to his voice. "Can we go out and do something later?" he asked, as he shrugged on a sweatshirt over his head.

"Yeah, like what?"

"Anything, really."

Dean had been going slightly stir crazy with the enforced confinement, and having to stay inside. Not out of choice, but out _necessity. _While he understood the security precautions completely, it didn't compensate for the fact that it had been hard adjusting to it all. So much had happened in such a short amount of time that he was slightly surprised that his head wasn't spinning from all the craziness it had been filled with.

About four months previously, they had lost Jim Murphy. Dean and Sam's other guardian, the one that lived with them and Caleb, to the same demon that had been responsible for the horrific murder of his mother, and the right after that, he had had to endure his funeral, which had been emotionally traumatizing for him, and then right after everything had started to settle down, Sam had been taken.

"Yeah," Caleb said with a shrug, sensing how urgently _both _boys needed a break from the place. "We can go get something from the drive-thru and come right back."

"Sounds good."

* * *

_Just so you know. Dawn will be playing a role in this story. I love writing her character so much! But...uh-oh definitely!_


	2. Chapter 2

Even though Dean was still confused about the nightmares that he had been suffering from, it had helped to be able to speak with Caleb about them, and know what _he _thought about the strange dreams. Normally, Dean never had anything like that happen to him. Usually, whenever he suffered from a nightmare, it went away the next night to be replaced with another fabrication from his overwrought mind.

Having the same set of dreams in a row, was highly unusual for him, but he tried not to dwell on that confusing realization, as he shakily got himself dressed for the day. Since he had had little to no sleep the previous night, his movements were definitely slower that morning, as he went through the morning rituals that had long ago been as familiar and comforting as staring at the back of his own hand.

It was the _routine _that mattered for him.

In a world that was often unpredictable and frightening, having something that he did every morning without fail, helped. Even if it was something dumb like brushing teeth, or pouring a bowl of cereal or pancakes, it helped to know what came next for him.

And even though Caleb had given him the option of sleeping in some more to reclaim the lost _zzz_'s that his nightmares had claimed as their own, he had declined. There would be no point—not when his brain was firmly awake, and propelling his body to follow along with their cruel plan.

"Hey, Sammy," he said, as he groggily walked into the kitchen, where Sam was currently gorging himself on Caleb's delicious pancakes.

"Morning," Sam said, with a mouthful of pancakes as they dropped disgustingly from his mouth.

"Close your mouth when you're eating," Caleb reminded him, as he put some pancakes on Dean's plate. "Here are some of my _award—_winning pancakes, dude."

"Thanks," Dean said gratefully, as he tried to lose his mind in the amazing food in front of him. If there was one thing that Dean loved more than hunting or training, it was food.

"No problem."

"Where did Bobby go?"

It had only just dawned on him that the older hunter was nowhere to be seen. For the last several days they had been hiding out at the safe house that Bobby had first brought to their attention. It was safe guarded against every possible demonic threat, and that was why they had chosen that place to bunker down in.

"He went to get some coffee," Caleb replied. "We're running low."

"That's a _tragedy_," Dean said, laughing once, as he rolled his eyes.

If there was one person in his family that absolutely _lived _for the intoxicating caffeinated drink, it was Caleb. And Dean, when Caleb would let him have some of the delicious beverage.

"You bet it is," Caleb said seriously. "Coffee solves everything."

Dean laughed. "You're something else."

"You bet."

"So when can _we _go?" Dean asked, starting to get antsy.

"Go where?" Sam asked, looking back and forth between his brother and guardian.

"We're going to blow this place for a few minutes when Bobby gets back," Caleb said. "You and Dean need to get out of here for a few minutes, I think."

Even though the kids had been doing fairly well with the imposed restrictions that staying in one place had presented, Caleb knew that they were both chomping at the bit to get some fresh air, and escape the confines of the house for a little while.

"Awesome!" Sam said, trading fist-bumps with Dean. "Where are we going to go?"

"Nowhere fancy," Caleb explained to him, "but maybe stop through a drive-thru and get some food or something, and then maybe we'll see about renting some movies to hold us over for awhile."

"Awesome."

They had a TV in the living room, but even _that_ had lost its appeal after awhile, with both boys looking for an escape from the security measures that had been put in place for their own protection against a demon that seemed to up the stakes whenever they came in contact with him.

"Morning, idjits," Bobby said, as he finally came back into the house with Caleb's requested coffee.

"Hey," Dean said, raising his head briefly to look over at him. "Out getting coffee?"

"Yeah," Bobby said with a scoff. "_This _one," he said, looking over at Caleb. "Wouldn't stop hounding me until I left this damn place."

"I had to find some way to get rid of your ugly ass," Caleb joked. "And it just so happened that the reason served a purpose."

"For _you_."

"You know it," Caleb said with a dramatic sigh. "Dean, you want some of this?"

"Sure."

Normally the guys tried to limit how much caffeine consumption they allowed Dean to digest, since they let him run loose with the outrageous amount of soda that he drank on a daily basis, but Caleb didn't think it would hurt once in awhile for him to indulge in his favorite beverage with him.

"I'm cutting you off on the sugar, though," Caleb warned, as he shook the vanilla cream that Bobby had brought home with him. "Sam, you want a little?"

"Yes!" Sam said eagerly. It was extremely rare that the guys allowed Sam to have any coffee. Normally, the kid was already hyper enough on his own without the added assistance of caffeine.

As Caleb poured him a small amount of it and carefully handed it to him, he sat back and allowed himself to really _breathe _for the first time that morning. Going into Dean's room and hearing how worried he was about those nightmares, had been more than a little concerning, especially with how crazy everything had been lately.

"Dean," Caleb said, "you should tell Bobby about these dreams of yours."

"What dreams?" Bobby asked, taking an interest as he studied the thirteen-year-old curiously.

"It's nothing-" Dean began, not wanting to make another big deal out of it like he had done with Caleb that morning. At that point in time, he didn't feel it was anything major to worry about. Just an annoyance than an actual _worry_.

"_Dean_," Caleb warned. "Talk to the man. He might know more about this than _I _do."

Dean sighed, knowing better than to mess with Caleb when he got that warning tone in his voice. It wasn't that he didn't trust Bobby with this information like he trusted Caleb with it. He trusted Bobby with his life, and with Sam's, but he didn't want to think about it, anymore.

"Alright. Fine," Dean said with a deep sigh. "I keep having these really weird dreams. And it's not like they change every night, either. They're the same ones night in and night out."

It was obvious the wheels in Bobby's head were turning, as he considered what Dean was telling him. He had heard of the rare times when demons would have the power to influence dreams, but the last time he had come across something like that, it was when Yellow-Eyes had been visiting Sam while he was sleeping.

"Are they _bad _dreams?"

"Well..." Dean said slowly, as he tried to think of the right way to phrase his answer. "They aren't _bad _bad, but it's the _feeling _I get whenever I have them. Like, something bad is going to happen."

"It sounds kind of like when Yellow-Eyes visited _me_," Sam said quietly, as he listened to their conversation.

"Yeah, but he was _actually _visiting you," Dean said, "but I never see any demons in my dreams-"

"What _do _you see?" Bobby asked.

"Nothing really," Dean said softly, as he ate some more of his breakfast. "Just," he said, as he moved around uncomfortably. "This _forest_, and Sam and I are in it, and we're running from something. I don't know what, but we are, and we're alone."

"We're not there?" Caleb asked, looking over at Bobby with his eyebrows raised in question.

"I didn't see either of you," Dean said, with a shake of his head. "And it's been the same dream for a week now."

"It doesn't change at _all_?" Bobby asked.

"Only when something _else _appears," Dean said, shaking his head. "Like, it was night when Sam and I were running, and there was this urgency about it, too."

"What do you think?" Caleb asked quietly, shifting his focus from the boys to Bobby.

"I wouldn't worry about it for right now," Bobby said after a minute of silent consideration. "As long as you're not actually being harmed physically in real life, I think we should track these dreams as best we can, and if anything continues to change, you let us know, and if they seem to stop."

Dean nodded. "Okay."

* * *

After their tense discussion over the state of Dean's dreams, Caleb fulfilled his promise to the boys, and took them out of the house. It had been weeks since they had been allowed to leave the protection of the house that had shielded them from any other possible further attacks.

And while Dean had been grateful to enjoy the rare feeling of feeling safe and secure, and knowing that he was in a protected place to sleep and lay his head down at night, it had still been difficult to adjust to a whole new set of rules and regulations.

First and foremost was no outside jaunts unless accompanied by Caleb or Bobby. Even then, in the weeks since Sam had been found, they had vetoed any outside journey's, always afraid that the demon would be watching, hiding in the shadows, waiting to make another move against them.

"Are you guys having fun?" Caleb asked, with a small smile on his face.

They had just gone through the drive-thru at Mcdonalds, and Caleb had indulged the boys in their favorite food and drinks from the famous fast food restaurant. It had been awhile since they had been able to enjoy a leisurely afternoon like that.

"Yes," Dean said, with a small smile. "This is _really _great."

And much needed, too.

"I'm glad," Caleb said. "What about you, Sam?"

"It's awesome!"

"Good."

Cheeks red from the snow, and hearts bursting with excitement over their day, the boys returned to the house that afternoon, with smiles as big as Texas on their cherubic faces. Even though the trip hadn't lasted long, it had been nice to venture out of the confines of the house, and have it be successful.

"Did you guys have fun?" Bobby asked, as he watched them carefully hang their coats up.

"Yeah," Dean nodded. "Anything new happen here?"

"Not a lot. Caleb," he said, looking over as the younger hunter entered the house. "Someone left you a message."

"Who?"

"Family services."

* * *

_One word: Uh-oh_


	3. Chapter 3

"What the hell?" Dean whispered, feeling a shudder pass through his entire body, as he followed Caleb's rapid fire progression around the table to where Bobby had the number for him to call the people back on.

It wasn't often that they had to deal with CPS—usually it was their even more powerful police counterparts that they had had the displeasure of working with—having CPS suddenly be interested in them, was the last thing they needed to have dumped on their laps, especially with how precarious it was with Yellow-Eyes, and his unpredictable movements.

"I don't know," Caleb said, his voice tight, as he squeezed the bridge between his nose and eyes with two fingers. "It's probably nothing, something stupid, but I have to call to make sure."

The last thing he felt like doing was calling them and hearing whatever ridiculous accusations they had against him now, but he knew that ignoring the call would be worse for him, would only raise suspicion into him and what he was allegedly doing with the boys that was wrong, and the last thing he needed was another criminal case on his heels.

"Yeah," Dean nodded, crossing his arms shakily over his chest, as he waited with bated breath for Caleb to connect with someone on the other line. "Just...don't believe any of their crap, Caleb."

After all, these people didn't _know _his family. They didn't know the love and support that surrounded he and his brother, and they didn't know how much Caleb and Bobby loved them, didn't know how they had raised them to defend themselves, not out of choice but out of necessity against the various unseen evils of the world.

They didn't know _anything_, and that was what infuriated Dean more than anything, as he chomped down on his bottom lip to stop himself from spouting out something he would regret later, as he watched Caleb dial the return number anxiously.

"I won't, believe me," Caleb assured him. "These sons of bitches think they're so smart, but they don't know the _half_ of it."

"That's for damn sure," Dean muttered angrily.

"Watch your tongue," Caleb warned, giving him a sharp glance.

"Sorry."

Even though Caleb let Dean get away with a lot when it concerned the language he used, he still drew the line when it concerned some of the more colorful words that was in his already impressive vocabulary.

Caleb nodded, smiling softly to show that it was okay, as he waited to get on the phone with an actual person. Preferably the one that had made the call in the first place, as he shot Dean a quick roll of the eye look, as he waited another, few agonizing seconds.

"Hi," he said, when he finally got connected to a _real _person on the other end of the line. "This is Caleb Rivers, I was told that someone from your office called here."

_Hi, Mr. Rivers. This is Diane Ward, I'm the representative that made the call._

"What can I do for you?" he asked, as he turned his torso around to glance over at Dean, as Sam perched himself curiously on the island counter, clearly wondering what all the commotion was about.

_We received a complaint from a teacher at the private school that Sam and Dean Winchester currently attend._

Caleb would have laughed if he hadn't been so incredulous. "What _complaint_?" It was ridiculous. If they weren't narrowly avoiding chaos on one issue, they were snowballing into another horrible situation, and this had all the makings to be one of those times again.

As he scrubbed an exhausted hand over his face, he was keenly aware of the look that Dean passed over to him, clearly chomping at the bit to know what was wrong this time, and what "complaint" CPS had received.

_It would be preferable_, the lady on the other end said slowly, _if we meet in person. _

"Well, that's not possible right now," Caleb snapped. "I'm out of town right now, so whatever you have to say to me, say it right now, or wait until I can get back."

_When can you arrange to be back in town?_

Clearly this woman was one of the stubborn ones—not willing to let this go that easily—and it made Caleb nervous. They had been lucky to avoid serious inquiry by CPS before this, and he knew their luck had expired, as he tried to think of a way they could even safely _return _to Minnesota.

"Tomorrow," he finally said.

That would give him enough time to send Bobby ahead, and make sure the area was clear of demons, and maybe even install some of the wards that were on the safe house, at their own home in Minnesota. It would make Caleb feel better about going back for this, and it would certainly ease any fears the boy's had, too.

_One 'o clock?_

"Fine."

Hanging up the phone, he leaned back against the counter, as he tried to think through the panic that was rapidly building in the back of his throat. It wasn't enough that they had barely gotten by after Jim had died, and then Sam had been kidnapped.

Oh, no.

Now CPS had to "talk" to him about a "complaint" they had received. It was probably bogus, something that was meant to scare him into making sure the boys attended school again, nothing more nothing less, but he wasn't about to take chances based on that assumption alone.

Too much was at stake. The boys, mainly. The idea of CPS launching an investigation into him and how he chose to raise the boys, couldn't have come at a worse time, and he was dreading having to answer their judgmental questions, and defend himself, once again, from the prying eyes of authorities who would have no idea what they were even _talking _about.

"What did they say?" Dean asked, once he had given Caleb a minute to process whatever CPS had just told him. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice lowering when he saw how affected Caleb was by whatever had just been said to him.

"They wouldn't say," Caleb said, finally feeling strong enough to meet Dean's panicked gaze. "They want to meet with me tomorrow back home."

"So we're going back?" Dean asked, as he glanced back nervously at his little brother. Clearly he wasn't too enthused at that possibility when he remembered where Sam had been taken from.

"I guess we don't have a choice."

Even though Caleb would have preferred staying in the safety of South Dakota until the demon was taken care of, he had no choice this time, and he recognized that, much to his irritation and anger.

"Okay. When do we leave?"

"I have to meet with the lady at one tomorrow. Probably tonight sometime. Bobby," he said, turning to the older hunter, who had so far remained silent during their conversation. "Is it possible for you to go ahead of us, and put some wards on _our _house?"

If they could add some of the security measures from the safe house to their own home back in Minnesota, it would make Caleb feel better about attempting it. Not that he had a real choice, not when CPS was acting as though they were about to launch something serious, and it made him sick.

"I could get some iron parts and add them to the windows and doors."

"You can?"

"Sure. I can paint some of the sigil's that's here, on your house."

"Thank you. What about the wards?"

"Same thing."

"You can do all this?"

"Sure."

Caleb nodded. "I appreciate it."

Even though he and Bobby butted heads sometimes, he was immensely grateful for his rough and gruff friend at that moment. It would be a relief to know that while he was concerned about making sure the boys reached home safely, Bobby would already be there, installing the crucial security measures that had been at the safe house, in their own home.

"Don't be stupid," came the reply.

* * *

Walking into the CPS office, Caleb tried to shut out the part of him that was infuriated. It was hard to control it, though. Just when he thought they could relax and wait out a time until they could get rid of the demon, and be safe, CPS had forced his hand in returning home again.

If only these people knew the _half _of it.

If only they knew how much he adored those boys.

If only they had any inkling what a wonderful family they were together.

"Caleb Rivers?"

"Yes," he said, as he stood to shake the girl's hand.

"I'm Diane Ward, we spoke on the phone."

"Okay."

If she expected him to show any euphoria at finally meeting her in person, she would be sadly mistaken, as she led him down a series of halls until they reached her own private office near the end of the hall.

It was small—claustrophobic. It reminded him of a police interrogation room, and that only increased his intense desire to get the hell out of there, as he calmly took a seat where she directed him.

"So," she said, as she sat down behind her desk. "We received a complaint-"

"From their school, right?"

"Correct. They seemed to be concerned about a number of things."

"Like _what_?"

Momentarily taken aback by the sheer amount of venom in his tone, she recovered after a second. "The number of absences, for one."

"What the hell do absences-"

"It could mean a lot," she replied icily, as she consulted the notes that she had obviously carefully prepared. "Let's see. Dean, in the past _four_ months has had _twenty _absences. They were excused away verbally by you, who claimed he was sick, but the school never received confirmation by a doctor."

"Are you _aware_," Caleb said, matching her tone to a T. "That Jim Murphy, their other guardian, was killed a few months ago? Dean _was _absent a few months ago-"

"And recently, too."

"What the hell ever," Caleb said furiously. "What the hell business is it of _yours_, or even the school's for that matter, to raise a fit about this when-"

"When it's combined with other factors, it raises a red flag," she interjected.

"What other _factors_?"

Giving him what could only be described as a smug smile, she slid a folder across to him, that he knew contained evidence into what her office was trying to prove. Shaking his head in complete disbelief, he opened the folder and pulled out the first page.

"That's a general timeline of Dean's absences," she explained. "Over twenty in the last several months."

"I believe I already told you _why. _A _dear _member of our family was _murdered_," Caleb said, his voice shaking with both rage and a renewed sense of mourning over his lost friend.

"I'm very sorry for your loss, but that is what the school observed, and that is one of the reasons they called us. Not the _main _reason," she added, "but one of the red flags that was raised."

"So what's the "main" reason?" he asked bitingly.

Taking back the folder, she pulled out several photographs and slid them across to him. "These are pictures that were taken on the last day they were seen in school, which was over a month ago. As you can see, Dean has several bruises on his arm, and what looks like, a cut or two on the elbow."

Staring down at the photographs of Dean's arm, he tried not to think about the spirit that had caused them. This lady would throw him in a mental institution if he even _thought_ of telling her what had _really_ caused them.

Playing dumb was his only option.

"I don't know how he got them," he lied. "They didn't come from me," he said, speaking the truth that time.

"Well, regardless," she said, "these are bruises that look like they needed to be seen by a doctor. They're swollen, purple and blue, and they look suspiciously like someone either grabbed or hit him."

"And how could you _possibly _tell _just _from the photographs if he was hit or grabbed?"

"We have our ways."

Shaking his head in fury, he tried to control himself before he completely lost it. "So are you trying to tell me you're going to use this to launch an investigation-"

"We already _have _started an investigation. Next we need to speak with the children _privately_."

This was bad.

Caleb could feel his heart race in his chest, as he tried to control the insane urge to hit her. This foolish woman had no idea what she was even talking about, and she had brought a firestorm of hell down on his family. It was the last thing either of them needed, and she was doing it.

"Fine," he said, beginning to stand up, having heard enough. "I have nothing to hide—neither do they."

"We'll see."


	4. Chapter 4

Caleb stalled returning home after his meeting with the CPS lady had concluded. He couldn't bear to see the look on Dean's face when he sat him down and informed him that the lady honestly thought he was abusing he and his brother. It was ridiculous, ludicrous, even to him, and he couldn't imagine how a thirteen-year-old would react, when he himself was panicking over this.

But he had no other choice.

CPS was gunning to interview the boys _that _afternoon, and if he was going to further his chances of having this go away peacefully, he would need to coach them a little in what to say to them, and _how _to say it.

Dean would be far easier to coach than Sam would. Dean knew more about what would be expected of him, than Sam. Dean knew how important masking the truth would be, because ordinary people like this lady, would not understand the real cause of his injuries, and so the truth needed to be protected at all costs.

Sam would be more difficult.

It had been their (foolish) mistake to raise him with the belief that lying was bad, and would actually pass down punishment whenever he was caught in a fib. For nine years, he had been raised to know that lying wasn't good, and now Caleb would have the enormous task of trying to make him understand that while these people were only trying to help he and his brother, it wouldn't be in their best interests to tell them the truth.

The boys would be vulnerable if they were taken now.

YED could use that separation as an advantage to get to the boys again. And this time if they were placed in the custody of the state, there wouldn't be any of the wards or sigils to protect them from harm, or Caleb or Bobby to love them and make sure they were safe.

The bar had been raised impossibly high. Why couldn't these people leave his family alone? Why did they have to make bogus charges _now_? Especially when they were all still on edge after Sam's kidnapping, and trying to find a way to live with the knowledge that YED was still out there, still bidding his time while he waited for another opportunity to strike.

Not surprisingly when he finally pulled into the garage, Dean was waiting right inside the house to no doubt interrogate him about what the lady had said. If only he knew how bad it was looking, what this woman was implying, and the evidence that she had in her arsenal to back up her claims.

"What happened?" Dean asked, as soon as he had stepped foot through the door.

"A _lot_," he said, as he walked past him to sit on their sectional sofa in the living room. "She said a lot, Dean."

"Like _what_?" Dean asked, as he sat down next to him. "How bad?"

"I don't know yet. She's not willing to let this drop, though. This afternoon, she wants to interview you and Sam."

"She _does?"_

Caleb nodded, running a hand over his face in complete exhaustion. "Yeah. So the problem that _we _have now, is figuring out how we are supposed to even _try _to explain away the bruises that you have on your arm," he said, gesturing to the bruises on Dean's arm that had already begun the process of healing.

"Is that her argument?" Dean said incredulously, as he looked down at his arm that had been battered by the spirit they had taken on. "That I have stupid bruises on my arm?"

That was reaching, and even he knew that, as he shook his head in disbelief.

"It could mean a lot for someone that's not in the know like we are," Caleb said. "That combined with other things, have really made them take a look inside our family, and we have to do everything on _our_ end to make this go away."

"But kids get bruises-"

"_Yes,"_ Caleb conceded, "but it's _how_ serious the bruises are, that's in question. According to her, they should have been seen by a doctor."

"Yeah, but _you _know what you're talking about," Dean pointed out. "And _you_ told me they weren't bad, and they would heal."

"Yeah, _I _knew that because in our line of work, I've seen bruises and cuts a _thousand _times more serious than those ones. But it's a question of why you weren't seen," Caleb said, dreading his next words to Dean, "and it's a question of _how _you got them, for her."

"How?" Dean asked slowly, as though he was trying to connect the dots that Caleb had spilled out, but not entirely believing it, either. "What is she trying to say, Caleb?"

"That I hit you, basically."

Dean shook his head, raising his fingers to wipe the tears that he could feel coming out of his eyes. If they weren't being hounded by a demonic force that seemed intent on making sure their lives were a living hell, then they were being hounded by a _human _enemy, one that had the power of causing serious damage.

"Is she _stupid_?"

The thought had honestly crossed his mind more than once, but hearing from Caleb that she was investigating him for _abuse _was as laughable as it was horrifying.

"She's trying to do her job," Caleb said, trying to stay calm for Dean's sake. "As horrible as it is for _us_, she has an obligation to investigate claims made like this."

"And who _made _them?"

"Your school."

"Well, I'm never going back _there_," Dean said with a furious scoff. "How could they-"

"You and Sam have _both _been absent several times the last few months, and even though I tried to explain _why_, it didn't seem to make a difference to her."

That in itself hadn't been a huge problem—it was when the school had combined their absences with the bruises on Dean, that had raised a question mark in their eyes, and had created yet another firestorm in their family.

"So," Dean said with a sigh, "how are we supposed to explain away the bruises?"

"I can't do that for you," Caleb said, shaking his head. "I wish I could."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, raising his eyebrows in question.

"Someone from CPS is coming this afternoon, and they made it clear that they needed to talk to you both privately."

"Without you here," Dean surmised.

"Yeah."

Having the knowledge that Caleb wouldn't be allowed to be in on the meeting with CPS, was frightening to Dean. In speaking with whoever came from their office, he was terrified of making a mistake, of saying the wrong thing and creating more hell for his family.

"What am I supposed to say to them about these bruises?"

"What do you think?" Caleb asked softly, as he gently took Dean's injured arm in his hand to examine it.

"I could tell them that I got it from sports," Dean said, watching as Caleb inspected his arm. "How does it look?"

"It looks better than it did last time I checked."

"Good."

He had gotten the bruise on a spirit hunt that he and Caleb had completed right after Jim had died. It had been the first hunt that they had gone on since he had died, and while they had been in the process of destroying the spirit, it had grabbed Dean's arm.

And even though it had been a quick grab, thanks to Caleb shooting it with a round of rock salt, the damage had still been done. And now they were dealing with the fallout of that hunt, even though it had been months since that job.

"I think the story you came up with, sounds as good as anything," Caleb said, letting Dean's arm drop. "So now we have to talk to Sammy, and see if we can get him on board with the plan."

"Okay."

While Caleb got up to find Sam, Dean settled back against the comforting feel of the sofa, as he tried _not_ to think about the meeting he had coming up with CPS. It was freaking him out to imagine having to talk to them without Caleb there to back him up, and it was making even more nervous that these were serious claims that they were investigating, and that he had to try his hardest to dispute _believably._

These people weren't idiots—they would be looking for cracks, they would be analyzing _him_, as much as they would his responses to their questions, and he hoped that whatever he did, would be enough to override what they were idiotically saying about his family.

"Hey, Sammy," he said, looking over at his little brother as he walked into the room with Caleb. "Where were you?"

"Downstairs watching TV," Sam said, as he lounged back on the couch between Caleb and Dean. "What's going on?"

Sam hadn't exactly been privy to the details of the CPS case, or why they had even had to come home in the first place. Even though it had been nice to be back, it was also confusing, as he looked back and forth between Caleb and his big brother.

"There's a lady," Caleb began, "that wants to come and ask you a few questions."

"What lady?"

"She's from Child Protective Services, and right now, there are some people that are saying that I have hit you and your brother."

"You don't hit us," Sam said, shaking his head, denying what Caleb was telling him.

"_I _know that, and so does your brother, but it's what _they _think that makes the difference. We have to make her believe that there isn't a problem here, Sam," Caleb said gently, "and that means that you-"

"It means you have to lie," Dean supplied bluntly. "She can't know about what we do, or how I _really _got my arm injury."

"But-" Sam argued, trying to see past the wall of shock that was falling down on his little shoulders. "I'm not _supposed _to lie. You and Jim always told us _not _to," he said, looking at Caleb.

"I know," Caleb said, "but people that don't know what we do, they can't understand. They really can't, and so when things like this crop up, there are questions, but we can't tell her."

"But-"

"If she asks you about anything specific, Dean's arm, or anything like that, just say that you don't know what happened, tell her that he was never hit, which is _true_," he added.

"So just say that I don't know?"

"Exactly."

"Okay."

* * *

When the lady came, the same one that had spoken with Caleb, she made a surprising request.

"I need to speak with the children separately."

"_Why_?" Caleb demanded.

"It's procedure," she said, avoiding directly answering the question.

Caleb knew that the "procedure" she was referring to, was making sure that their stories added up together, and it made him sick.

"Fine," he said through gritted teeth, not even believing the fact that he was being ordered around in his own home. "Sam," he said, "you want to talk to her first?"

"Yeah, sure."

Figuring it would be easier for Sam if he got his interview over with first so he wouldn't have to worry over it for hours, he and Dean went into another room, where they could still hear everything that was being said, but would be unseen by the nosy CPS worker.

"Do you think he'll be able to handle those questions?" Dean whispered.

"I hope," Caleb replied. "It's a lot to ask of a child, especially when he's not used to lying like we are, when we have to."

"I know."

"So, Sam," Diane Ward said, "are you a happy kid?"

"Yeah," Sam said with a smile, as he effortlessly made himself comfortable on the sofa. "It's _great _here."

Diane smiled at his enthusiasm, but she also knew that sometimes it was a mask to shield whatever secrets the walls around him held. "Do you have a lot of friends?"

Sam nodded eagerly. "Yes!"

"Tell me about them," she said, as she crossed her hands over her knees.

"Matt is my _best _friend. He likes playing soccer like I do. And then there's a bunch of others that like sports like we do."

"Do you play soccer a lot?"

"When I'm in school."

"And how often are you in school?"

"Not a lot lately," Sam admitted.

In the next room, Dean groaned quietly. "Sam, stop talking," he murmured, knowing that any questions that related to school or anything like that, would be bound to catch her interest.

"Why aren't you in school?"

"Um," he began uncomfortably, clearly beginning to freeze up.

"I wish he would stop talking," Dean said, knowing that this was beginning to go very wrong.

"He can't," Caleb said, "he has to answer the questions she has. I wish _she _would stop asking him these types of questions."

He wanted more than anything to barge in on the interview, and demand that he be present for the questioning, but that wouldn't aid his cause at all.

"It's okay," Diane said. "You can answer."

"I'm not supposed to," Sam said.

"You're not _supposed _to?"

"No," Sam said nervously.

Dean groaned, palming his face. "I can't believe this. Why would he say that?"

"Don't be mad at him," Caleb said quietly. "It was a lot for us to expect him to pull this off perfectly, when all his life, he's been raised to do the exact opposite."

"Okay," Diane said, switching topics. "What about Caleb? Is he a good guardian?"

"Yes," Sam said without hesitation. "He's amazing."

Caleb smiled in spite of himself. At least Sam had no issue answering _these _questions, because he knew them to be the absolute truth.

"Does he ever get mad at you?"

"No," Sam said, shaking his head.

"Even when he punishes you?"

"He gets mad sometimes," Sam said, "but he never gets _really _mad, you know?"

"I do. How does he punish you?"

"When I was younger, he used to put me in the corner for a few minutes. Now, he only grounds me from stuff I love when I do something bad."

"He never spanks you or anything like that?"

"No."

"What about your brother?"

"What about him?" Sam asked, confusion clearly written across his face.

In the room with Caleb, Dean tensed.

"I saw those nasty bruises on his arm," Diane said. "Do you know anything about those?"

"No," Sam said.

"Anything at _all?_" she pressed. "It's important, Sam."

Caleb knew the reason she was hassling him so much about Dean's injuries, was because that was the focal point for their investigation. Without anything solid to back up her claims, she would have no basis for investigation.

"You wouldn't understand," Sam said quietly.

"What wouldn't I understand?"

"Caleb said I'm not supposed to say anything about that, that you wouldn't understand."

Dean opened and then closed his mouth several times again in absolute horror. To anyone on the outside, it would look like Caleb had coached Sam on what to say and what _not _to say. They wouldn't know that Caleb was only trying to keep the boys safe, to make sure they stayed safe with _him_.

And he had just blown their cover, and had shined an even brighter spotlight on Caleb.

"I can't believe that he-" Dean started to say, shaking his head as tears started burning the corners of his eyes.

"It's not his fault," Caleb said, squeezing his shoulder, his voice tight. "But right now, _you _need to get out there, and see what you can salvage from this interview."

"Okay."

"And in the meantime, I'm calling Dawn."

* * *

_Sam did not mean to create more problems for his family. This was a scary situation for him, and he froze when she put him on the spot with those difficult questions. Even though, because of that, it's created more questions from CPS, and those who are trying to protect the children, while not realizing that there's nothing to protect them from!_

_Dawn definitely needs to hurry up!_


	5. Chapter 5

"Are you Dean?" Diane asked, plastering on a friendly, inviting smile on her face, as Sam excused himself to be replaced with his older brother, who would be much more savvy about dodging her questions, and replacing them with the ones that _he _wanted her to hear.

"Yes," Dean replied shortly, as he confidently placed himself on the couch in front of her.

"I'm Diane Ward, I'm from Child Protective Services. I just came here to ask you and your brother some questions," she began, clearly sensing how tense Dean was, how completely different he was from his brother in that respect.

It only made her wonder if he had seen more of the horrors in this house than his brother had, and her heart went out to him, as it did any child who she suspected was being abused.

"Nice to meet you," Dean said, hoping that a well-placed smile and some niceties would be enough to make her forget her ridiculous mission, and leave them alone.

"You too. I know all this sounds crazy, right?" she said with a laugh. "You're probably wondering why I came here to talk to you two."

"Yeah," Dean admitted, as he lounged back on the sofa. "I mean, it's _crazy_."

"I bet. So are you a happy kid?" she asked, starting off with the same questions that she had asked Sam.

"Yup."

"Okay, good. Do you have a lot of friends?"

"I'm selective about my friends," Dean answered, "but the ones that I _do _have are pretty amazing."

"I see. Do you play any sports? I know your brother mentioned something about playing soccer."

"Yeah," Dean said with a smile. "He actually made it to the playoffs last year."

"Did he really?"

Dean nodded, noticing the way that her razor—sharp eyes zeroed in on his arm when he raised it to wipe something from his eyes. "Yeah, he was super stoked about it."

"That's nice. So do you play sports?"

"No, not anymore. I used to play baseball, like, when I was _really _young but not anymore."

Hunting had become his sport—training and working out had become his hobby of choice, replacing what he would have done if he had actually been as involved with that kind of thing as his brother was.

Of course this lady would have no way in hell of knowing that, and he wouldn't give her a reason to start prodding, either, like Sam had. He was still stunned that Sam had slipped up so badly, and had no doubt, cast another dark shadow on their beloved guardian.

The only hope either of them had now, was if Dean could carry the interview flawlessly, not that it would do much, not with what Sam had revealed to her. Trying not to let his fear show on his face, he bit down on his thumb nail to replace the look his face must have had.

"Okay. How often would you say you were in school, Dean?"

And here came the hard questions—the ones that Sam had messed up so badly on. As Dean contemplated a convincing way to shed a new light on the whole absences situation, and make her momentarily forget what his brother had said.

"I'm in school as much as I can," he said, as he picked at something on his jeans, doing his best to maintain a steady eye contact with her.

"How often?" she pressed.

"I couldn't give you an exact time, but we're in school quite a bit."

"Well, you see," she said calmly, "we have it down that you and your brother have _both_ been absent over twenty times in the last three or four months."

"Yeah," Dean said, nodding, not bothering to deny the validity of her statements. "But our other guardian, Jim, died around then, and we were just trying to take some time off to deal, and then when we were ready, we went back."

Of course that wouldn't account for all the times _recently _when they had been absent, but he was hoping to dissuade her from that unwanted topic as much as humanly possibly.

"What about recently?"

"We've been sick," he lied smoothly.

"Really? And how come there was no doctor's note? The school requires that sometimes, or it's considered a truancy case."

"We didn't go," Dean said, "we just had colds, and they went away on their own with some of our home medications."

"I see," she replied testily.

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Is that all?" he asked, hoping that it was, but also not foolish enough to believe it entirely. This girl was out for blood, and he knew it, and he dreaded it.

"No. I was wondering if you could tell me what happened to your arm."

"Nothing."

"_Nothing?"_ she repeated, raising her eyebrows incredulously.

"I believe that's what I said."

"Well, you see, honey," she said, crossing over into dangerous territory. "When there are marks of that size and severity, we need to investigate and ask why they didn't receive medical attention."

"I was out playing with my friends," Dean said with a shrug. "I slipped and banged my arm on the cement, and I hid it for awhile."

"You hid it?"

"From Caleb, and our friend Bobby. Caleb didn't see it until right before you guys called, and by then, it was too late."

He was throwing out every card in his deck—hoping against hope that if he could weave as much of a lie as he could around the truth about his arm injury, that he could obliterate what Sam had told her, and have her believe something _else _entirely.

"But see, your brother told me another story about your arm. Is it because you two are afraid?" she asked gently.

"No!" Dean said, resisting the urge to reach across and smack some sense into her. "If I'm afraid of anything or _anyone_, its you!"

"Why would you be afraid of me?"

"For trying to do what you're trying to do!"

"And what's that?"

"Taking us from Caleb!"

"Is he hitting you?" she asked, not bothering to sugarcoat the question like she was normally trained to do. "Is that why you and Sam are so nervous?"

"No!"

"Sometimes it can be accidental-"

"He has _never _hit us. Not accidentally, not on purpose. Never!"

Never in his life had he felt so infuriated. These people had no idea what a wonderful person Caleb was, and how amazing he was with himself and Sammy. For this woman to come into their home, and make those claims against him, was hurtful and it was horrifying.

"I'll tell you what _I _know—those marks on your arm are consistent with someone grabbing or hitting you. We had one of our doctors analyze the pictures, and that is the conclusion he came up with."

"Fine," Dean said, "you can believe whatever the _hell _you want," he said, not bothering to play nice anymore. "But he has never done _anything _to hurt us!"

"Thank you," she said, putting her warm facade back on. "For talking to me, honey."

* * *

"Did I mess things up?" Sam asked, hovering anxiously around Caleb while he waited for Dawn to come. He had called her while Dean had been talking with the caseworker, and while she had agreed, of course, to take on the case, she warned him that she would have to gather all the files related to the case, before she could come.

Now the waiting game began, and he hated it.

"No," Caleb said, without hesitation. "You didn't, Sammy. You handled her questions _very_ well."

"Okay," he said, still clearly not sure whether he believed him or not. "Dean was really mad at me."

"He's _upset_," Caleb said firmly. "He knows it was an awful lot of pressure to put you under."

"I know. Who's coming over?"

"My attorney, Dawn."

"Oh. Is she the one who helped you out with your trial?"

Caleb nodded. "She is."

There had been a point in time when she had literally saved his life from a life sentence in prison. If she could get him out of _that_, he didn't see why she couldn't pull off another miracle when it concerned the boys, and the skewed opinion CPS had of him.

"Is she nice?"

"Very."

"And she's a good attorney?"

"The _best_."

If anyone could successfully take on a tough as nails caseworker, it would be his _equally _tough as nails powerhouse of an attorney, someone that he had trusted with his life when it was his _own _life that had been on the line, and who he would now trust to defend him against unfair and salacious claims made by an _unfair _CPS.

When the doorbell rang, signaling her arrival, Sam made a hasty retreat upstairs so Caleb and Dawn could converse in private. Feeling his heart hammer in his chest, he paused before opening the door. Even though he was glad to see her, whenever he had the chance to have a reunion with Dawn, normally, there was some crisis or another that needed her attention.

This time was no different.

"Hey, girl," he said, as he reached out to give her a warm hug.

"Hey to you," she replied, as she reciprocated the hug. "I still don't understand how you manage to have these end of the world crises on your hands," she said, as he showed her into the kitchen where they would be conducting their meetings.

"I still don't know that, either," he said with a shaky laugh. "Thankfully I have _you_, though. I don't know what I'd do in these situations without you."

"Just doing my job."

"Speaking of," he said, "what's the situation with _this_?"

"The claims they're making," she said, instantly switching to lawyer—mode, "are not funny."

"I gather," he said dryly. "But _how _serious _is _this?"

"Right now, all they have are the bruise marks on Dean, and the absences. Those _alone _aren't that bad, but when they're added together, then it creates a cloud of concern, basically."

"Right," he said with a nod. "So what are they aiming for right now?"

"Well, the caseworker on the case, Diane Ward, is going to finish up her preliminary findings, and then submit them into evidence for a later hearing."

"What is she going to say? Or don't you know?"

"Unfortunately," she said with a tight smile. "I _do _know the crux of it."

"And what's that?" he asked, not liking her tone at all, and also not liking the uncomfortable look she was giving him, as though she was dreading having to answer his questions.

"The state has to follow _very _specific regulations when it concerns abuse and neglect claims. Right now, she _knows_ the neglect aspect is shady, but she _is_ gunning for first degree abuse of a child. With the possibility of adding on the neglect charge if she gets more solid proof to back her claims up."

Caleb shook his head in astonishment. "Perfect. What are the rules that define neglect?"

"Um, it could be anything, really," she admitted, "but mainly, inappropriate education, failure to provide emotional or physical support, and starvation."

"_None _of that is true."

"_I _know that," she said, "but it's convincing _them _that will be the problem. Sam freezing up during her questioning, didn't help either. It now looks like _you _coached them on what to say, and that he was afraid of confiding in her."

"This is _unbelievable._"

"It gets worse. The abuse charges are more set in stone with the rules, and all they really need are physical marks, and failure to follow up with doctor visits. And, based on her initial report, there are other instances _besides _this one that she _will _reference during the hearing."

"Other instances?" he repeated blankly.

"Other occasions where he was spotted with significant bruising," she said gently, seeing how devastated her client looked, as she poured that wealth of information out to him.

"Dawn," he said, "I didn't do this."

He had no idea why he felt the need to defend himself to her, but he did.

"Off the record?" she replied.

"Sure."

"I wouldn't be representing you if I felt like you were capable of something like this. I'm a mother, and when I look at you, I don't see it. I didn't see it when you were accused of murder," she said, referencing his nightmarish murder trial, "I'm _still_ on the fence about the fraud charge," she said with a laugh, "but I _do _know that you're not a violent monster like those people think you are."

"Thank you. You have no idea how much this support means to me right now."

"We'll get through this," she promised him. "You have to trust me, though."

"That won't be a problem."

* * *

_Unfortunately caseworkers can sometimes jump the gun on certain cases, and recommend things that aren't appropriate at all to a judge. They save thousands of lives, but they are human and they make mistakes, just like we all do. Unfortunately for Caleb and the boys, this is one mistake that could cost them dearly. _


	6. Chapter 6

Dean tried not to be mad at Sam. It wasn't _his_ fault that he had been up against a woman that, while thinking she was acting in their best interests, was really only creating much bigger problems for them in the long run. Still, it had been disheartening to realize that this girl was out for blood, and had something against their guardian that didn't even make _sense _to him.

He understood this woman wasn't _in _their situation—she didn't realize that those bruises had come from another source, and not Caleb. It was what _she _thought, though, that could end up making all the difference in the world, as she prepared to submit her findings to a judge in a court of law.

Even though it was a possibility—Dean never seriously entertained the idea that he and Sam could be taken—and if that seemed like it might be possible—then Dean would have no compunctions about running, even though he doubted _sincerely _that Caleb would be as open to it as he was.

After all, this was the same guy who turned himself in to authorities on a _murder _charge because he was afraid of subjecting the boys to the trauma of possibly seeing him arrested. Even though he hadn't done the gruesome crime, his first concern had always been _them _and their safety, and their well-being, and being raised in seedy motel rooms, and constantly being on the go, wasn't exactly conducive to that idea.

Still, while Dean understood _why _Caleb was opposed to running, it was different now. The stakes had been raised impossibly high by a cutthroat caseworker, who thought she knew everything there was to know about his family, and in reality, she didn't know the _half_ of it.

If she became serious about taking them, then Dean honestly didn't see where they would have another choice _but _to run. YED was still out there, still waiting for another opportunity to reclaim his lost special "child" and if they were to be separated from their family, from the two people who not only _adored _and _loved _them, but could offer crucial protection, their whole lives would be thrown into inescapable danger.

"Hi," Sam said, as he came into the room, where Dean had been lying on the sofa, trying to think of anything _but _the disastrous interview that he and Sam had had. Sam, with slipping up and revealing things that he wasn't supposed to, and Dean, with losing his temper with her near the end of the talk.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said, as he lifted his head briefly to acknowledge his presence.

"I know you're mad at me."

"I'm not mad," Dean said, shaking his head in disagreement. "I'm just tired."

"You're tired?" Sam asked in confusion, as he sat down next to his brother, when he moved to make room for him.

"I'm tired of this crap coming down on us. I wish people would leave us alone, leave _Caleb _alone. We don't need it, they don't _know _us."

"I'm sorry I froze when she started asking me those questions," Sam said quietly, as he played with his shirt.

"It's not your fault. She put you on the spot, and you, being the moral brat you've always been," Dean said with a small smile, "just _had _to answer truthfully, didn't you?" he said, as he playfully shoved him.

"Yeah," Sam said, smiling. "I _am_ sorry, though."

"I don't think it would have made a difference regardless."

The woman had already clearly been suspicious when she showed up to interview them. Granted, what Sam had told her, hadn't helped, Dean couldn't see where it made things _worse_, either. When people had certain ideas in their heads of something, it was almost impossible to convince them otherwise.

Especially when those people were authorities, someone who had the right to take them away from Caleb, make their lives a living hell. It wasn't Sam's fault that he had reacted the way he had, and Dean didn't hold him responsible.

"What's going to happen? What could she do?"

"A lot," Dean answered truthfully, as he raised his hand to wipe some moisture from his eyes. "She could-" he cut himself off, not even willing to _think _the words, let alone say them aloud.

"She could _what_?" Sam asked, struggling to understand what his big brother was trying to tell him, and failing to come up with the answer on his own. In his nine years of life on the planet, he had never known someone to make up claims about someone that wasn't true.

It confused him, and he struggled to understand what this woman wanted, and why Dean and his family were being put on the spot about something that was so clearly _not _true.

"She could take us, Sam. If a judge agrees with what she is saying, we could be taken."

"_Why_?" Sam asked incredulously, his eyebrows all but disappearing under his bangs.

"Because if a judge thinks that we're being...we're being _abused_, then he could take us and put us somewhere else."

Just the _thought_ of being taken from Caleb, was horrendous to Dean. It didn't make sense to him, and he didn't understand why these instances had to keep happening to his family. Wasn't there another family that CPS could go after? Maybe one that had _real _issues that needed sorting out?

"Is that going to happen?"

"I don't know, Sam," Dean said, shaking his head, as he bit down on his bottom lip to at least _attempt _to stop the influx of tears that kept coming despite his best efforts to keep them at bay. "I hope not. But according to Dawn, they want to charge him with two counts of child abuse."

"But they can't believe that Caleb would-"

"They believe what they _think _they see," Dean said, "and what they don't know, is how wonderful he is, and how much he loves us."

"He went to _jail _for us," Sam said, recalling the truth about Caleb's strange absence for three months, and then learning the truth from Dean after he had found their Dad's journal.

"Yeah," Dean said, shaking his head. "He loves us more than anything, even apparently, his own freedom, and that's what they can't see, or _won't _see."

"I'm scared."

"Don't be," Dean said, throwing an arm around his brother and pulling him close. "We'll figure it out, alright?"

"Pinkie swear?"

"_Double _pinkie swear."

* * *

**Downtown District Attorney's Office**

Child abuse cases were hard to prosecute for a number of reasons. One, the abuse was usually so underhanded and subtle that it was hard to score a conviction with a jury that had the moral obligation of proving beyond a reasonable doubt for either acquittal or conviction.

And two, prosecutors had forensics and other physical evidence at their disposal, but the string that tied it all together, were the victims of the alleged crime. And if the prosecution knew _anything_ about trying these cases, it was getting a child comfortable enough to talk, to even testify on the _stand _about the abuse.

It was impossible.

Especially when their parent or guardian made them feel threatened, made them feel like they would be hurt again if they betrayed them in that manner. And for the most part, prosecutors avoided having children placed in that position, unless absolutely necessary.

"What have you got so far?" Lead prosecutor Mark Williamson asked, as he thoughtfully placed his pen against his jaw, as he paced around the small, cramped quarters he had, as he glanced over at his team.

"Possible abuse," caseworker Diane Ward said. "When you put all these instances together, it's almost like a puzzle where all the pieces fit together _perfectly_."

"Example?"

Mark knew how precarious these types of cases were. In his twenty plus years as a prosecutor, he had scored convictions on almost _all _of his cases, but he knew that in order for that to happen, the evidence had to be crystal clear, with concrete proof to back it up.

"Absences from school," Diane said, beginning to list off the reasons for the investigation. "Bruise marks on the oldest, and some on the youngest."

Mark nodded. "Who made the first call?"

"The principal at their school."

" Can I see some of the files related to this?"

"Sure."

Pulling out the binder that held the papers and photographs related to the case, she passed it over to the hesitant prosecutor. As he sifted through the documentation, and then finally the photographs, he could _almost _picture himself prosecuting this, but he needed just a _little _more to fit first.

"Did a doctor see these marks?"

"No. That was one of my red flags, actually. We had Dr. White, one of _our _people, analyze the pictures, and he said that the bruise marks, and the placement of where they are on Dean's arm, is consistent with being grabbed or hit."

"Any other occasions where this has happened?" Mark asked, as he looked over the plethora of evidence that was glaring up at him from the binder.

"Yes," Diane said, "over the last six months to a year, we've had at least _three _other instances where both boys were spotted with similar cuts and bruises. No one raised an alarm _then_, but with the recent absences and the reappearance of these bruises, it's become cause for concern."

"And were the other bruises similar to the ones that we see _now_?" Mark asked, trying to mentally compile all the evidence together to create a possible link to a case that hadn't even officially _started_ yet.

"Yes—sometimes they weren't as _severe_," Diane said carefully, "but these have been well—documented over the course of the last year at _least_."

Mark nodded. "The law where it concerns abuse is pretty set in stone. There has be an intent to commit the crime, a _willingness_ to do it, and acting with full awareness as to what you are doing, basically."

"Right," Diane said. "And you can't tell me that with these many instances, he isn't aware of how serious this is, or what he's doing."

"We don't know that yet. Any other evidence as it relates to these bruises?"

"They both tried to cover it up, say that he fell or something like that, but the nine-year-old blew their story."

"Why?"

"Fear, maybe?" she said with a shrug. "Nerves? Who knows? But when I interviewed them both, they were _scared_," Diane said, her voice softening in sympathy for the plight these two children were going through.

"Fear of _what_?" Mark asked.

"That's the question I have. What are you going to go for?"

"It's tricky. It would be a lot easier to prove abuse," Mark said, "but the issue of physical neglect is still iffy. We can gun for first degree abuse charges based on the continual sight of the bruises, and then with the neglect charge, failure to provide medical treatment, and failure to provide sound education."

"How long would he get for all those combined?"

"It's hard to say when it concerns a jury trial," Mark explained, "but if I charge him with four counts. Two charges of abuse, one for Sam and one for Dean, same with the neglect, it could be up to thirty years if convicted."

Diane nodded. "When do you start proceedings—_if _you start proceedings?"

"I'm not going to start the indictment process until I speak with the guardian face-to-face."

"What about protecting the kids? Emergency appeal for removal?"

"That will be up to your department. I'll handle the criminal side of this from now on."

"Okay. Another thing to consider..."

"Yes?"

"These were sealed files, but our department managed to get hold of them. Last year, Caleb Rivers was charged with murder one. The trial ended in acquittal, but obviously a judge-"

"Saw enough evidence to indict him in the first place," Mark said slowly. "Is he their _sole _guardian?"

"Yes. About five months ago, Pastor Jim Murphy was killed. The circumstances surrounding his death are still ongoing."

"Okay. Well, file the motion to remove the children, and in the meantime, I'll try my hardest to set up a meeting with him."

"Okay."

* * *

_Uh-oh. Any time anything goes to the DA's office, it's never generally good for the people that they're trying to go after. Poor Caleb! Poor Sam and Dean!_


	7. Chapter 7

The waiting game was hard for Caleb. He knew that Dawn was doing everything in her power to suss out the situation, and know for a fact what CPS was planning, what their next moves would be, but it was still hard to wait around and _not _know what the status of the investigation was.

It was still horrifying that there even _was _an investigation to begin with. It would have been _hilarious _if Caleb hadn't been so scared stiff of the possible outcome of this. When Dawn finally arrived, he tried to find comfort in her presence, but he knew that _something _was wrong, and he dreaded hearing it.

"We have a problem."

Caleb sighed, resting his palm under his chin as he looked at Dawn. "Of _course_ we do," he say dryly. "What now? What did you hear from the CPS office?"

"Well, right now, they're not necessarily the problem," Dawn began hesitantly. "Although, that's another issue that I'll come to in a minute. But right now, the prosecutor that's been recruited by CPS, wants to meet with you."

"A _prosecutor_?" Caleb said incredulously.

That was bad—that was _very _bad. It showed that CPS was _actually _serious about the claims they were making against him, and had turned to the highest power in the town to aid them in their sick mission to see him lose the boys, when there was no merit to what they were even saying.

After the hell he had gone through with living through his murder trial, and an overzealous prosecutor who had seemed to want to watch him suffer endlessly for something he hadn't done, he had been quite sure that he would be happy if he had never seen another one of those pompous, arrogant people again.

Especially if this one was anything like Mark Riley, the prosecutor who had tried his murder trial. Just thinking of that man's name was enough to make Caleb sick, as he looked at Dawn, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Yeah," she said, studying him carefully for his response. "He wants to meet with you before the hearing."

"What hearing?"

That was new.

"CPS has requested an emergency hearing to see if a judge would be willing," she said slowly, "to take the boys, essentially, because with the repeated history of marks on Dean," she said, catching the horrified look on Caleb's face. "In their eyes, it shows intent and a probable cause to commit more of the same offenses."

"So when is this hearing?"

"Tomorrow morning—the prosecutor wants to meet this afternoon."

"Do I do it?"

"I don't think you have a choice," she said, shaking her head. "It might _not _make a difference in the long run, but it wouldn't hurt anything, either. What _you _have to remember," she said, catching his gaze, "is to keep a steady head through this conversation. You can't give him any reason to believe what _they're _saying."

"Alright."

This was making him nervous. The fact that CPS had gone so far as to include the local DA in this case, was deeply troubling for him, and it was also terrifying.

The lady that had come, had seemed so smug when she had left. It was clear that she had gotten everything that she had needed to pursue the case further, and she had. Now that she had gotten the DA involved, it upped the ante just a little bit further.

* * *

Walking into the prosecutor's spacious office, he tried to let go of the claustrophobic feel that he got from the place, as he took a seat with Dawn at his desk. The man was younger, early to mid thirties, with a bald spot near the back of his head. Even though his posture and manners were easily welcoming, Caleb wasn't buying it as he shook his hand.

He had been through too much where it concerned the prosecution and the games they liked to play with their victims. A sick web of cat and mouse, and it was something that he dreaded having to go through again, as he waited for him to start the conversation, already eager to get it over with.

"Thank you for meeting with me," Mark Williamson began.

"You're welcome," Caleb replied stiffly, ignoring the sharp look of warning that Dawn gave him.

"I have a feeling that you know what this concerns exactly."

"I do."

"Alright. So I basically want to hear _your _side of this whole thing."

"I don't know what to say," Caleb said honestly, as he fidgeted nervously in his seat. "I'm getting sick of people accusing me of things that I did _not _do."

It was true—over the last year he had been accused of murder, fraud, and now child abuse. It never seemed to end for him, and he was getting tired of having to go through the same hell whenever someone thought of pulling the rug out from under him again.

"Well, let's just stick to the facts of _this _case," he said, as he sorted through his assorted files. "Our main concern are the bruise and cut marks on Dean. The fact that this is _not _an isolated incidence, is concerning for us."

"What do you mean?"

"The bruise marks are serious enough that it warranted the attention of Principal Glass at the private school that Sam and Dean go to. We consulted a doctor that's on the CPS's payroll, and he was adamant that the marks _should _have been seen by a doctor."

"I'm sorry," Caleb said honestly. "I screwed up—my bad—it won't happen again. I'll be more careful in the future-"

"The fact," Mark said, as he talked over Caleb, "is that we have several of these occasions, and it's cause for concern. Especially with the raps that you've gotten in the last year-"

"We're not here to talk about anything that happened in the past," Dawn interjected. "Please stick to the facts of _this _case."

"Very well—based on past times, and the amount of absences that were documented, we have enough to go ahead and start proceedings."

"These absences," Caleb said, feeling sick, "can be explained-"

"I believe you or one of the kids said that they were sick?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "We need more proof than a verbal say-so from you. If you can't provide that, then we count that as part of our evidence, and they'll be used as part of our proceedings."

"What _proceedings_?"

"CPS is moving foreword with _their _case, and I'll be moving foreword with mine."

"What are you _talking _about?" Caleb said, shooting a panicked look at Dawn.

"Two counts of first degree abuse of a child, and two counts of child neglect, respectively."

* * *

The morning of the crucial hearing dawned, and Caleb honestly couldn't have felt sicker if he tried, as he prepared to walk into the courtroom with Dawn. It was horrifying to imagine that it all boiled down to this one hearing, this one morning. If a judge agreed with CPS, that the boys were being abused by him, and the judge took them away, he had no idea what would happen.

It was the worst possible time for this to be happening—YED was still out there—and if the boys were taken away from the protection of the house, and from him, they would be vulnerable to whatever games that the demon was planning next.

"Try to breathe," Dawn reminded him, as he took a seat next to her. In a time of great stress and devastation for him, he was relieved to have her calm presence to steady him. If anyone had his (and the boys') best interests at heart, it would be her.

He nodded. "Thanks."

Once the hearing started, it was fairly quick. The CPS side wasted no time in displaying the photographs for the judge to see. The pictures depicted Dean's arm, and the violent bruise that the spirits had left for him.

"You can see," the man said, as he paced the floor dramatically. "That there is a consistent timeline of these injuries. The only thing that changes, is the severity of them. One bruise looks relatively harmless," he said with a shrug, "but the next ones _after _that, only get worse."

After that, Dr. White, the doctor who had first examined the pictures took the stand.

"Is it your opinion that this is a bruise consistent with being grabbed or punched?"

"Yes."

Caleb groaned, shaking his head in utter disbelief and fury, as he listened to this man.

"And is it your opinion that marks like that should have been seen by a doctor?"

"Yes."

"When you look at the bruising and the location of it, what is your first thought?"

"That," Dr. White said, leaning foreword. "That the placement of the marks indicates a sprain or break of some kind."

Caleb opened and then closed his mouth several times in horror. A sprain or a break was infinitely more serious, especially if a judge was supposed to determine if he should be allowed to keep them or not.

"And those kinds of breaks or sprains could be caused by a hit or punch?"

"Yes."

After that, came the issue of absences. That in itself was not a huge issue, and so the prosecution didn't spend a bunch of time going over the specifics of that, only that it indicated other factors, especially Dean's behavior when he was in class, and how tired he had seemed to the teachers, which according to a psychologist they put on the stand, could be indicators of trauma from the abuse.

When Dawn finally got _her _chance to speak, she wasted no time in jumping through the key points of the case, the ones that the prosecution had so conveniently left out in their hurry to drag him through the mud.

"In regards to the absences," she said, "I can't account for what happened four or five months ago, but the recent ones, the ones that counsel is making such a fuss about, are because, and this is included in the police report," she added. "Sam was taken _from _school on a field trip. Of course it would be understandable that they would need a little break."

Caleb tried to listen to what Dawn was saying, and not feel panicked at the ridiculous accusations the prosecution was hurling at him. It was enough, it all was. The fact that the prosecution had gone one step further, and had informed the court that the marks on his arm looked similar to those of a break or sprain, was ridiculous.

But even though _he _knew that, and the kids knew that, it meant nothing when the courts got involved, and decided that what he was doing, was wrong. It looked so bad, but he was hoping that Dawn would get _her _chance to salvage what she could from this morning.

"And in regards to the marks on his arm. I never received any indication from speaking with Dean, or my client, or even my own experts that I spoke with privately, that this was a break or a sprain. In fact, if I recall correctly, Mrs. Ward said that when she was speaking with Dean, she saw him move that arm quite effortlessly, and that certainly wouldn't be the case if it was broken or sprained."

Caleb knew she had a point, but that wouldn't erase any abuse claims, just the ludicrous ones that claimed that his arm had been broken. He wasn't off the hook, far from it, as he tried to keep his breathing under control so he wouldn't lose it. His heart was hammering painfully in his chest, and he knew that it was a direct result of the fear that he had of losing the boys, of seeing them taken from him. He couldn't imagine anything worse for either the boys _or _him.

After her testimony was done, it was purely up to the discretion of the judge, after a few parting words from the CPS worker, who hammered it into the judge's mind that his past actions showed intent, that his criminal history showed probable cause that he was capable of abuse, and that the boys' welfare mattered above any shadow of a doubt.

"Until this case is resolved, the children not continue to be with the defendant," Diane said bluntly. "His past criminal behavior is indicative of the allegations against him now. This has been a well—documented case for the past year, and now we have a situation, Your Honor, where there might have been an _actual _break or sprain. For the _best _interests of the children, there needs to be another option for them until this is fully resolved."

Caleb resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This woman had _no _clue what she was talking about, and it was laughable that she could saunter around the courtroom and throw her weight around, and judge him for his 'past criminal behavior' when she hadn't even been _involved _in those cases.

But unfortunately, it wasn't up to him to decide who was right and who wasn't.

"In the best interests of the children," the judge said, "especially with the severity of the bruises, there is a certain risk factor that I can see right now where it concerns the defendant, especially with how often these bruises seem to appear."

Caleb bowed his head, fighting back tears of pure outrage and hurt.

This wasn't right.

This wasn't fair.

"As of right now, I am terminating Mr. River's custodial rights. He has until tonight to surrender custody to the CPS office."

* * *

_Poor Caleb! Poor Sam and Dean! The CPS has really messed things up for them, and potentially put the boys in severe harms way by forcing their separation from Caleb. _


	8. Chapter 8

As Caleb swiped away stray tears of shock and hurt, he was dimly aware of his feet moving, seemingly of their own accord, as he and Dawn left the courthouse. A judge who had heard all the same evidence that he had heard spouted out from the CPS lawyer, a judge who had seen the pictures of Dean, and had more importantly, heard all the counter-arguments from Dawn, which had explained the bruises, had explained their absences, had ruled in favor of CPS.

The enemy, in his eyes.

It was over. He had lost custody of Sam and Dean to people who had no idea what kind of danger they would be unknowingly placing them in by taking them from the only source of protection that they had. It was unfair, it was stunning, and it was heartbreaking for him.

Swallowing back the baseball—sized lump in the back of his throat, he somehow made it to his car, not even remembering the transition from the courtroom to there. He paused briefly to at least _attempt _to gain control over his fractured emotions, he briefly saw Dawn approach him out of the corner of his eye.

She had done everything she could to prevent this from happening—she had put her own experts on the stand, she had done her best to cast doubt over the CPS's case, but in the end, the judge had clearly agreed that he was a 'risk factor', that the kids would be better protected in another place.

If only they _knew_.

If only they knew about the horrific world of demons and spirits. If only they had the slightest inkling of _why_ Dean had those injuries, and knew that he would sooner _die _than lay a hand on _either_ of the boys, and if only they knew the peril they would be placing the boys in if they took them from their home.

"I'm so sorry," she said, as she came to stand next to him. Her crystalline eyes showing nothing _but _the remorse that she felt in not being able to secure this for her client and friend.

"It's...it's not your fault," he said, finally feeling strong enough within himself to face her.

He would have loved nothing more than to have placed the blame on _her _for not being able to make sure he kept custody of Sam and Dean, but it _wasn't_ her fault. The CPS and their lawyers had simply been too much when combined together, and especially with the prosecution bringing up his past criminal behavior, and all the marks on Dean.

"Still," she said, shaking her head. "I thought we had it. They can't prove where the marks came from, only that it was consistent with being hit or punched. It doesn't directly point _to _you."

"That's the way they think, and why _wouldn't_ they? I'm the one who has sole custody of them. I'm the one who's with them every single day of the world, and I'm the one who's in charge of this stuff, and now with Jim gone, it all falls on _me_."

"I know," she said, nodding her head. "And I know I've never really seen you around the boys, but I know from knowing _you_, that you must be pretty amazing with them."

"I hope so," he said, looking down at his shaking hands. "Now, though? It doesn't really matter. We lost, and now I have to find a way to tell them that I don't have custody anymore, that they have to go somewhere for right now now."

"If you want," she said, "I can come with you and help you tell them."

"No," he said, shaking his head, as he tried to plaster a grateful smile on his face, even though he knew that it came off forced, and even slightly shaken. "I—I need this time with them," he said, his voice breaking. "If this is the last time that I'll have with them for awhile, we need to make the best of it."

He couldn't even bear to imagine the possibility that this might be the last time he spent with the boys as a family. He couldn't imagine having to go home and inform them, especially Dean, that they would have to go someplace, that he and Dawn had lost their case, and a judge had (foolishly) sided with CPS.

Those boys were his center—his _world_, and he couldn't believe the position he was being put in again where it concerned the local law enforcement, and how poorly they must feel about him, in order to continually keep hammering him with nails that he didn't deserve.

"I'll file an appeal," Dawn promised, as he started to get in the car. "It will be on the judge's desk as soon as its processed through the different channels."

"Will it affect what's supposed to happen _tonight_?"

"No. You have to have the boys at CPS by five, and it will take a day or so at _least _for it to be approved and then for the judge to see it."

"Alright," he said, struggling to hold back his tears, at least until he was alone and on the drive home to deal with them on his own terms, in his own way. "Thank you."

"I'm sorry, again."

"I know. I appreciate it."

Five 'o clock was only a few hours. The hearing hadn't been called on time, and as a result, he and Dawn had had to wait longer before their case was called. Now it was pushing three 'o clock, and the window of time he had with the boys, was rapidly closing as he started the drive back.

Scrubbing a hand over his face as he drove, he tried to imagine what he would say to them when he walked through the door, and came up blank. Was there a guidebook for how to gently break the news to your kids that they would have to be taken? That CPS thought he was an abusive monster?

Wishing anyone _but _him could do the ugly deed, he paused in the garage when he first pulled in, trying to salvage any amount of peace he had left, before walking straight into another nightmare. Dean, he knew, would react the strongest to this, and he didn't blame him.

Dean had seen more than Sam, had more responsibility on his shoulders, and knew just how dangerous their lives could be, and how detrimental it could be for them to be separated from their family, from Caleb and Bobby.

"Hey," he said, when he walked in through the kitchen, and turned into the living room. "Where's Sam?" he asked Dean, as he came to sit beside him on the sofa.

"He's upstairs," Dean replied, "some frog project for science class that he's trying to finish."

"Oh."

Caleb had never seen a kid so obsessed with school—each day Sam seemed to come home with some award or certificate for completing a task, or even if it was something small like helping someone pick up their spilled crayons. It was a wonderful outlet for him, and Caleb hated that it had to be tarnished with the knowledge that _they _were the ones who had initially made the report to CPS about him.

"So," Dean said, as he scooted closer to Caleb. "Where were you today?"

"Uh, I actually," Caleb said, as he put an arm around Dean, pulling him close. "I had a custody hearing with Dawn today, in court."

"You_...did_?" Dean asked slowly, his usually strong and confident voice, wavering in doubt and uncertainty as he looked at his beloved guardian. "What happened?"

Caleb hated to see how uncertain and scared Dean was. It was a product of having everything in their lives go wrong lately. If it wasn't Jim dying, it was YED taking Sam, and now CPS launching an investigation into their lives that could prove to cause more harm than good.

"Um," Caleb said, faltering slightly as he turned his head to the side to shield his tears. "The judge...he..."

"He _what_?" Dean demanded. "What _aren't_ you telling me right now, Caleb?"

"He agreed with what CPS was saying, and he signed over custody to them."

There was dead silence from Dean, as he silently processed the bombshell that Caleb had just dropped on too crowded shoulders. As Dean shook his head, gnawing down on his bottom lip as his hazel eyes filled with waterworks, he tried to get up, no doubt wanting to deal with this in private, but Caleb stopped him with a quick (but gentle) pull on his arm.

"We have to go somewhere?" Dean whispered, his voice broken, as thick tears squeezed out of his eyes, trailing down his cheek and into his mouth.

"Yes. Dawn's going to start the appeals process, but it's not going to be complete in enough time before I have to have you guys there."

"When?"

"In about two hours."

Dean shook his head in disbelief. "I can't _believe _this. _Why_? Why us? Why do we have to go anywhere?" he demanded, as his posture, which had been so forcibly strong just minutes earlier, completely crumbled in devastation and defeat.

"Because," Caleb said, struggling to hold it together for Dean's sake. "The judge believes what CPS is feeding them. They mentioned something about the bruises on your arm, are consistent with it being broken or sprained. They think that _I _did that."

It was laughable to him that he would be accused of abusing Sam and Dean, when _he_ knew the truth, when the boys knew that he would _never_ hit or punch them, and had certainly never denied them medical treatment when it was warranted. It was one of the many downfalls of the hunting part of their lif, and how the authorities who _couldn't _understand, were now punishing him for something they had no idea about.

And unfortunately, it was the boys who would end up suffering the _most. _Not him, even though his heart was breaking at the idea of saying goodbye to them, of having to walk away when he had done nothing to deserve it.

"But you _didn't_," Dean said, shaking his head, denying what Caleb and the courts were telling him. "You have _never_ hit us or done _anything_ to hurt us."

"_I_ know that, and _you _know that, but it's what _they _think that matters, unfortunately, and this is what he came up with, at least until whatever proceedings happens and it's resolved."

"No," Dean said, shaking his head. "I won't go—I won't do it."

"Dean-"

"I _won't_. We _can't_ be separated, Caleb. You know that. With Yellow-Eyes trying to find us and Sam, we can't be left vulnerable."

"I _know_. Believe me, that was one of the first issues I thought about when this all came down. How am I supposed to protect you both when you're somewhere else?"

"You _can't_."

Dean couldn't believe this was happening. For as long as he could remember, he and Caleb had been so fortunate to share such an incredibly close bond, he had already lost him once when his horrific murder trial was happening. Now it was a situation of _he _and _Sam _being forced away by a corrupt CPS, who didn't understand.

"I know," Caleb said, not even bothering to deny the truthfulness of Dean's statement. "And I _don't_ know what I'm supposed to do-"

"We leave," Dean said without hesitation. "We go now before they have a chance to find us."

"Dean," Caleb said, "even _if _we do that, there's always that chance-"

"So! Who cares? As long as we're giving ourselves a fighting chance, because we won't be protected if we're not with you, or Bobby, and," Dean said, trailing off momentarily. "And I don't think I can survive something like this again."

"What do you mean?"

"When you were gone for those three months, there were days I honestly thought that I wouldn't make it because I missed you _so _much, and then things got better when you got back, and then Jim died, and now I have to lose you again? I have to lose _more_ of my _family_?"

The shock from Jim's death, had still firmly remained entrenched in Dean's mind, and he hadn't even come _close _to accepting it, even though it had been nearly five months since their tragic loss had happened. The idea of more change, of more upheaval, and having to leave Caleb, was absolutely atrocious to him, and it was terrifying.

"You will _never _lose me, Dean. Not ever," Caleb said, shaking his head. "Not even if we have to be apart for a little bit of time, we will never lose our bond, we will never lose this family."

"What happens if they-"

"If they keep us apart _permanently_?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

"We'll cross that road when we come to it."

"We can't, Caleb," Dean said. "Not this time. It worked _before_ for you to stay and fight this, but this is differentnow. We can't be apart, not with Yellow-Eyes still out there. _You _know that."

"I do."

"What is your gut saying we do?" Dean asked, after a few minutes of contemplative silence.

It was a little trick that Caleb used on the boys whenever they were on the fence about something, and it almost always got them thinking the way he wanted them to think, or even got them moving a little faster when they were lagging in the mornings.

"Well," Caleb said thoughtfully, "my head is telling me to stay and not push my luck, but my gut is telling me the exact opposite, to run and make sure you kids are safe."

"So which one do you listen to?"

"My gut."

* * *

Even though running went against everything that Caleb believed in, and what he felt comfortable with, he knew that he couldn't afford to do anything _else. _Dean was right, Yellow-Eyes was still out there, still waiting for the next opportunity to strike, and they could not afford for them to be separated from one another.

After calling Bobby and arranging a time where they could meet up at the safe house, they left. Sam, while not entirely understanding the gravity of the situation at hand, thought it was a fun (but confusing) adventure, as they once again had to leave their home in Minnesota, for the relatively safer one in South Dakota.

But even though the safe house was just _that—_it only protected against demons. Humans could come and go whenever they pleased, and sooner or later, Caleb _knew _that he would face the consequences for running like this.

"How far?" Dean asked, feeling his heart hammering in his ribcage, as he glanced over at Caleb.

"About another hour. We just crossed over into South Dakota."

It had gone much faster this time around—instead of the leisurely, fun drive that they normally took to Sioux Falls, this time everything was different. The occupants in the car, except maybe for Sam, were on edge, terrified of the unthinkable happening.

"Okay," Dean said, as he tried to settle back against the front seat, but he couldn't. Not until they reached the safe house and were guaranteed at least _some _protection from the people and things that wanted to hunt them.

"Just stay cool," Caleb said, glancing over and seeing how tense the thirteen-year-old was. "We'll be there soon-"

The words had no sooner left his mouth than the sight of a police car coming up behind them, caught his attention. Any doubt that the car was meant for them, was quickly erased from Caleb's mind, when the sirens went on.

In his mind, he had a micro—second to make his choice. Either keep driving and risk a nasty ending, or stop and see what they wanted, even though there was no compunctions in his mind about what they wanted, and it made him want to throw up.

"Caleb," Dean said, "we didn't do anything-"

"I know that," Caleb said, as he started to stop, "but if we keep driving, this thing ends _very _badly, and I don't want you or Sam caught in the crossfire." He meant that literally, too.

As he pulled off onto the shoulder of the highway they had been traveling on, he tried to control the frantic pounding of his heart, and make sure that his every action and look, showcased nothing but complete cooperation and willingness to comply, even though he had no intentions of letting them take the kids, like he suspected _strongly _they were there to do.

"Caleb-" Dean began, his face showing the fear that he was clearly feeling, as he glanced in the backseat at Sam. "We can't stop. They can't-"

"They _won't_," Caleb said, shaking his head. "Just don't say anything to them, okay? Let me handle it."

It was obvious Dean didn't like that order, but he wisely didn't argue _against _it, either. He watched quietly as the officer signaled for Caleb to roll down his window, and tried hard notto glare his distrust at the uniformed officer standing there.

"Good afternoon," the officer said, looking in on Caleb and the boys. "Can I see some license and registration?"

"Sure."

As Caleb gave him the required information, he exchanged tense glances with Dean, as the officer momentarily left them to go check the information out back at his squad car.

"What do you think is going to happen?" Dean whispered.

"I don't know."

It was making Caleb nervous. He could feel his heart race as he watched the officer walk back toward them.

"Are you Caleb Rivers?"

"Yes."

"Okay," the officer said, "I need you to step out of the car, please."

Caleb had been afraid of this—sighing deeply, he began to unbuckle his seatbelt, still not sure how he was going to handle this, as he caught sight of the terrified look on Dean's face.

"Caleb-"

"Dean," he said, as he started to get out. "Just stay here, okay? Stay here with Sammy. It's going to be okay, just stay here. _Promise _me."

Dean was obviously torn, but he eventually nodded. "Okay."

"Thank you."

Feeling slightly better now that he knew that Dean would listen and obey what he was telling him, he got out of the car to talk to the officer, as they went to stand behind the car. Caleb was acutely aware of Dean leaning around in his seat, observing _everything _that was going on.

"What can I do for you?" Caleb asked, as he crossed his arms over his chest, turning his head briefly to lock eyes with Dean, before turning back to the officer.

"We have a situation," the officer said, not bothering to beat around the bush. "There's a court order that states that you had to surrender custody to the CPS offices, an _hour _ago."

Caleb nodded; he had suspected this would be the problem. "Yes," he said, bowing his head briefly before looking up at the officer. "It was a mistake-"

"It becomes a problem, because we have an order from a judge in a court of law _saying _that you had to hand over physical custody of Sam and Dean Winchester to the CPS offices. When there's a failure to present them, and then we catch you traveling _outside _of Minnesota, and across state lines, it becomes a felony."

"A..._what_?" Caleb said, struggling to understand what this officer was saying. He had expected to hear a lot from this man, but that was the last thing he had expected to hear, as he tried to keep himself calm and not fly off the handle until he had all the facts.

"When there's an order," the officer said again, "saying that you no longer had custody and had to give it up, and then you fail to arrive with them at CPS, and then we catch you outside of the state, it becomes an issue of kidnapping."

Caleb shook his head, feeling sick to his stomach. "You _have_ to be kidding me."

"I'm not. This is serious."

And it certainly would prove to be catastrophic for him in his attempts to regain custody of them. Feeling tears of pure panic and fear come to his eyes, he hastily wiped them away, as he tried to find a way out of this situation, and came up blank.

"It was a mistake," Caleb said. "I was trying to spend some more time with them. It was _never_ my intention to create more problems."

"Well, regardless," the officer said. "The law is clearly defined where it concerns this kind of thing, and this _is _considered kidnapping."

"I'm sorry-"

"I don't have a choice," the officer said. "Turn around and put your hands behind your back."

"No," Caleb said. "Not here. Please, don't do this here. I don't want them to see that," he said, looking over again at the boys. Dean was still keenly observing everything that he could see from his limited view, and Caleb knew it would completely shatter him to see him be put in handcuffs.

"Alright," the officer said, taking pity on him. "Let's walk behind my car, then."

Grateful that the officer was allowing him that one small mercy in protecting the boys from further emotional strife, he numbly walked with the officer back toward his squad car.

"Okay," the officer said, "turn around and put your hands behind your back."

This time Caleb complied, as he turned and put his hands behind him. As he felt the smooth metal of the cuffs fasten around his one wrist, and then the other, he tried to control the panic that was coming in waves, as they _click click clicked _into place behind him.

"You have the right to remain silent," the officer said, beginning to read him his rights. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney, if you cannot afford one, one will be provided to you free of charge. Do you understand these rights as I have read them to you?"

"Yes. What's going to happen to them?" he asked, looking over in the direction of their car.

"We'll take them back to Minnesota."

"Is there any way my friend, Bobby, can take them?"

"That will be up to the courts to decide," he said, as he opened the back door of the police car. "In the meantime, I have to take you in."

"I know."

* * *

"Something's wrong," Dean said, shaking his head. "I _know_ it."

"What—what do you mean?" Sam asked, his little voice trembling in fright.

"I haven't seen Caleb since he and the cop went behind his car."

It was freaking him out, as he waited impatiently for Caleb to make an appearance, to let him know that they had managed to skate past the cop, and could be on their way. When a sharp knock brought his attention to the driver's side door, he jumped when it opened, and a cop stuck his head inside.

It was a different one than Dean had first seen when they had been pulled over. As he scooted closer to Sam, he glared his mistrust as he gave him a none-verbal warning to stay back.

"Why don't you boys step out of the car."

Dean obliged, knowing that out in the open, he would have more freedom to protect his little brother.

"Where's Caleb?" he demanded, keeping at least three feet from them and the officer.

"He's been placed under arrest."

"_What?_" Dean said incredulously. "No, no," he said, his voice breaking, even though he was trying to stay strong in the presence of whom he viewed to be the enemy.

Even though he was trying to stay strong on the outside, on the _inside_ he could feel his heart break, could feel the irksome tears begin to gather around the back of his eyelids, and could feel a lump the size of Texas in the back of his throat, as he tried to control that part of him that was growing more and more devastated by the second.

"I have to take you back right now," the officer said.

"No!"

With that, Dean grabbed Sam's hand and ran. There was a large forest that bordered the long expanse of highway that they had been caught on. It was their only hope of evading the police, as he effortlessly weaved himself through the trees, as he wasted no time in stopping, as he dragged Sam behind him.

This was his fault.

He had convinced Caleb to run.

And now he was on his way to _jail._

Running with Sam was his only hope of escaping the same force that had taken Caleb.

* * *

_Crap just got real! Honest opinions, guys. _


	9. Chapter 9

"Dean, can we _stop _now?"

They could have been running for hours or minutes, and Dean wouldn't have noticed the difference, as he expertly weaved his way through the trees, barely avoiding low-hanging branches, and other hazardous parts of the forest, as he tried to see through the sun that had started to sink below the canopy of protective trees.

With the approach of sunset, the temperature, which had been comfortable, had started to decline into colder, more frigid numbers, as Dean struggled to keep up the same pace that he had long ago adopted when he and Sam had started their frantic race through the woods, determined not to let those people get them.

But his baby brother's exhausted plea for rest, finally got through to him as he allowed them temporary respite on the trunk of a tree that had either been cut down by the forces of nature, or a logger. As he eased his exhausted body down on the trunk, he fought to hold it together as all the adrenaline that had been keeping him moving for so long, started to ebb and slip away, denying him the precious, merciful feeling that he had been basking in to keep him going.

"Yeah, Sam," he said, looking over at his brother, as he gasped for breath beside him. "We can—we can stop for now." Now that he was stationary, he was aware of just how much of a beating he had put his poor body through, as his legs throbbed and ached with the undue pressure they had been put under, and his heart absolutely soared underneath his chest.

"I'm s—scared," Sam whispered, as he drew closer to his big brother, seeking _him _out for the protection that he craved. "I want to go home."

"We can't go home," Dean whispered brokenly, as he used his forearm to wipe the moisture that had collected on his forehead, and had started to trail down his face. "We can't, there's nothing there for us right now."

Minnesota was too far away, and even _if _they could reach it, they would be stopped by the police and hauled off to whatever hell awaited them in the foster or group home care. As he closed his eyes briefly against the pain that he felt coming off him in waves, he tried to imagine a good outcome and couldn't.

Every which way he looked, they were screwed, and even though it went against everything that he believed in to be strong, he was _scared_. It was a feeling that he was used to having, but not this strongly, and he fought against its powerful hold, as he took several deep breaths.

"Dean," Sam whispered uncertainly. "Are you...are you _okay_?" This was new to him. Before all this, he had only known the strongest, bravest parts of his brother. The confident, cocky big brother that loved to tease and rough house with him. Seeing him so scared and unsure, was unsettling to him.

"No," Dean whispered brokenly, as he wrapped his arms around himself to at least _attempt _to keep himself together, keep himself under control, because he could feel his heart shattering inside his chest, and it _hurt_. "I'm not okay."

He was scared.

Scared for themselves in a forest that could house any number of dangers from either the animal variety, or the demonic kind. He was scared for Caleb, that he was on his way to jail for something that he had had no choice _but_ to do, and he was scared of the penalty that he would be facing if he ever went to trial, and he was scared for Sam.

How would he protect him if YED tried to come and stage another attack? Especially if he had his demonic cronies watching every desperate move they made? It was an impossible situation. Either doom themselves to torment at a group home or foster care where the demon could come at _any _point, or doom themselves to hide in the forest until someone they knew could find them.

Neither option was desirable in the _least_, but Dean knew that he wouldn't go willingly to any of those places. Not when there was a chance he and Sam could be put in different homes, and not when the threat of the demon finding them, was _always _a possibility.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked, as he placed his hand on Dean's knee. He wasn't too surprised when he pulled away from the touch, shunning all attempts at physical affection, even when he probably needed it the _most_.

"Nothing," Dean said, sniffing back as much of the waterworks as he could. He needed to be brave, he needed to be strong in order to be at the top of his game, even though the influx of emotions were too strong for him to take on by himself. "I'm okay."

"Yeah, right."

"Just leave it, Sam," he said, as more tears squeezed out of the corners of his eyes, trailing down his beet red cheeks and into his mouth. He tasted saltwater as he swallowed them back, not even bothered by their potent taste, as he used his hand to furiously halt more of them from making an appearance.

And he was heartbroken.

The pain from hearing the cop tell him that Caleb had been arrested, hadn't initially overtaken him. It was only now, when he had the chance to stop and resign himself to the pain that his body had been holding back on, did he realize just how devastated he truly was.

He could almost _feel _his heart shatter inside his chest, could feel it break off into tiny, jagged pieces as they pierced each living part of himself. The torment from knowing that Caleb had chosen to run because, in his mind, he had pushed him to it, and now was on his way to jail for it, was crushing for Dean, as he sobbed as quietly as he could so Sam wouldn't be too alarmed.

Caleb was his buddy from before he could remember much of anything else. They had always shared such a wonderful bond and relationship with one another, and just the fact that he was cut off from him again, and in a time when they needed each other the _most, _was horrifying to Dean.

"Dean," Sam said again. "Are you crying?"

"No," Dean whispered softly. "I'm—I'm okay, Sammy."

While they had been running, adrenaline had wiped out the devastation, had numbed that pain from him. When they had stopped, it had come back to him full—force, and he was stumped as to how to properly manage it.

"No, you're not."

"Sam-"

"It will be okay, Dean."

For years, he had catered to his brother, had looked out for him, and had assured him in much the same way that Sam was now doing for him. It was comforting to know that he wasn't alone in the truest sense of the word, just in the sense that there wasn't an _adult _there, someone like Caleb or Bobby to take the helm and manage it for him.

"How?"

"I don't know," Sam admitted, not knowing what else _to _say. "But it will. Jim always said that if we believe, it will turn out okay."

"It's hard to _believe_ that right now, Sam."

Their situation just seemed to keep getting worse and worse by the second. Not only had he lost Caleb again, but he and Sam were now alone and vulnerable in the forest. The pressure that he had placed on his shoulders by running, and taking Sam with him, was only now beginning to dawn on him.

It wasn't just _his _life that he was in charge of now—it was also his baby brother's. When he had made the split second decision to run from the police, he had taken over responsibility for both of them, and whatever happened after that, was solely on _him_.

It was crippling to realize that, to know that every move he made, would have to be made with his brother in mind. With _both _of them in mind, as he glanced wearily around at their new surroundings. It was quiet for now, but that could change at any second, as he tried to relax for the short amount of time that he could.

"Do you think Caleb's okay?"

"I don't know, Sam," Dean said, shaking his head, even though he doubted Sam could see that in the total darkness that had now completely enshrouded them. "I hope so," he said, as his voice broke. "It's my fault we're in this messed up situation."

"How is it youfault?" Sam asked, struggling to understand where his brother was getting his thinking from.

"Because _I _was the one who convinced him to leave. I was the who told him that we should run, and now look what happened!" It gutted him to realize that if he had kept his mouth closed, and let Caleb make the choice on his own, things could have turned out differently.

"Dean, it's _not _your fault. Caleb is an _adult_, and he made the choice to leave with us to protect us."

"And now look? He's on his way to jail, and we're out here alone."

"We could go back-"

"No," Dean said, shaking his head, denying that plan entirely. "I refuse to go to that place. I won't let either of us go, Sam."

"But-"

"If we do that, they might separate us, Sam."

He had heard of that happening before, where siblings were placed separately because of the fact that some family's wouldn't want to take both of them on. It was sickening, and it was unfair, and that was one of the sticking points for Dean. He _refused _to be apart from Sam, and he knew that was possible if he let them go.

"Oh."

"So we have to keep moving," he said, as he struggled to his feet. "Come on."

For all he knew, the cops could have an all out search party trying to locate them, and he knew that they would have to keep moving on foot to avoid being detected. Even though he was exhausted, even though he would have loved to have laid his head down to sleep, he couldn't.

"_Now_?" Sam said, with a slight whine to his voice, as he struggled to his feet.

"Yes," Dean said, turning his torso around to face him. "If they catch us, they won't let us escape again, and then we'll be at _their _mercy."

"But I'm tired-"

"I _know_," Dean said, his tone softening at the depleted look Sam gave him. "I promise it won't be long, but we have to keep going right now."

"Fine."

As they set off again, Dean found that it was much harder to travel this time. The sun had completely set, and the ground under his feet was uneven, as he fought to keep himself upright. He could feel his heart breaking, could feel himself start to cry again, he struggled against that unwanted feeling, as he forged ahead.

"Sam, hold my hand," he said, reaching his arm behind him to take hold of his baby brother's.

"Okay," Sam said, as he easily placed his hand in Dean's. "How much longer?"

"We just got started," Dean reminded him, as his eyes searched all around them for any sign of danger that would be almost impossible to spot in the pitch darkness. "Wait," he said, as he stopped suddenly.

"What?"

"I have an idea."

Taking off the sweatshirt that he had been wearing, he hung it on a branch that _seemed _to point in the direction they were headed in, but Dean walked in the _opposite _direction to further trick the police that would be searching for them. Sighing deeply, he continued to hang on to Sam, as they moved deeper and deeper into the trees.

"We're in Sioux Falls," Sam said, after a little while of silent walking. "Maybe Bobby will find us."

"I hope so," Dean said. "I hope he sees my shirt and knows what I was doing."

It was a trick that Caleb had taught him to elude an enemy, and he hoped that it would manage to fool the police if they were still looking.

"What _were _you doing?"

"Making the cops think that we were going in one direction, when we were going in the other."

"Oh."

"We'll stop soon," Dean promised him, feeling Sam lag behind him. "And we'll try to wait until Bobby finds us." _If he find us_, Dean silently thought to himself.

* * *

The process was familiar to Caleb by now, even though he tried _not_ to think of it as something old, something that he _had _to be familiar with. A series of new mug shots were taken, prints were gathered, and all of his personal information was collected.

After that, he was placed in a holding cell for the night until they could assign him a new cell block unit for the duration of his stay. Even though it killed him to admit it, he knew that this time it might be a _long _time before he got out and was able to see the boys again.

According to his arresting officer, it was felony kidnapping. The evidence was right there in front of any jury that would potentially take on the case. He had willfully taken the boys, had violated a strict court order saying that he had to surrender custody, and had been caught outside of Minnesota with them.

His actions had been done with the purest of intentions, but no one _outside_ his family would know that. For all the court knew, he had defied them, disobeyed an order to give up the two people that meant the world to him, and had attempted to flee.

Thinking of it like that, he almost felt sorry for Dawn. She already had her work cut out for her in attempting to restore his custodial rights, and having an added kidnapping charge tacked on to the already growing list of charges, wouldn't help her mount her case _at all_.

"What the hell were you thinking?" she demanded, the morning after his arrest.

"I _wasn't_," he said, looking down at his cuffed hands, as he looked back up at her. "I really wasn't."

"Well, now they're charging you with _kidnapping. _You know that, right?"

"I got a little suspicious when the officer who slapped the cuffs on me, told me that," he said dryly. "Isn't kidnapping supposed to involve holding people against their _will_?"

"In some cases," she said, shaking her head in disbelief. "And in other cases, it's called parental kidnapping, where you defy an agreement or custody arrangement, and that's basically what you just did."

He sighed, shaking his head. "I didn't mean for this to explode like it did-"

"We have an arraignment coming up in a few days."

"Will I get bail?"

"It's possible. The judge only hesitates where it concerns murder or something of the like, but with kidnapping and other charges like that, it's iffy."

"Will I get it or not?"

"I...I wouldn't be surprised if the answer is no."

He nodded. "Alright."

"You'll plead not guilty to all five of the charges against you."

"Right. What happens _if _I get it?"

"You'll be allowed out while whatever proceedings take place."

"What about the boys?"

"I'll do my best to get your friend temporary custody of them, at least until you're in a position within the judge's eyes, to get your rights back."

"Okay."

"There's something else," she said, avoiding his probing gaze.

"What?"

"I got a call from CPS this morning. The officer that was about to take the boys, said that Dean completely lost it when he told him that you had been arrested, and he grabbed Sam and ran into the forest. They've been looking," she said, seeing the horrified look on Caleb's face, "but they haven't—they haven't found them yet."

"Dawn, you _have _to find them."

The idea of them being alone and vulnerable while YED was still out there, was devastating for him. Even more so when he was harshly reminded of the fact that he couldn't search for them. He was stuck in a cell again, now with the knowledge from Dawn that the boys were missing.

"We're doing everything we can," Dawn promised. "They've been looking all night, but they either keep moving, or have hidden themselves."

If anyone knew the delicate art of concealing themselves (and others), it would be Dean. He had learned everything he knew from Caleb, and that included tracking and hiding himself from unwanted enemies. It didn't surprise him that Dean had reacted the way he had, he just hoped that Bobby, or even the police, were able to find them and bring them to safety.

* * *

Dean lost track of the number of hours he and Sam had been alone in the forest, exposed to the elements. Once they had hiked a few more miles into the heart of the woods, they had finally stopped for the night. While not wanting to be left vulnerable and exposed, Dean had determined that he would keep watch while Sam slept.

It was safer that way, even though Dean was exhausted from the lack of sleep he had gotten since everything had gone to hell. Scrubbing a hand over his eyes, he looked down at his little brother. Sam was still asleep, his chest rising and falling slowly in time with his soft breaths.

At least Sam was momentarily free from the same hurt and confusion that was consuming his older brother. Dean never wanted to be thought of as a baby or someone who needed help, but he wanted Caleb. He missed him more than anything in the world, and wished more than anything that they could go back in time, and change what they had done.

He still blamed himself for what had happened to Caleb. It was a part of his natural DNA to place the blame on himself when something involved him and it went wrong, even when it completely ridiculous and unrealistic.

"De?" Sam slurred sleepily, using his nickname for his brother.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said softly, as he threaded his fingers through Sam's bangs, pushing them aside. "Sleep good?"

"Yeah. My back hurts a little bit, though."

"I'm sure it does," Dean said. "My _legs_ hurt."

Throughout the night, he had allowed Sam to use his lap as a pillow to cushion his head, and his legs had definitely paid the price for that, as he shakily got to his feet, hoping to release some more feeling into his frozen limbs.

"How long have we been-"

"I don't know," Dean said. "Overnight. It's almost morning."

In the distance, he could see the sun begin its slow climax up the horizon. It was beautiful to be so close to it, but when Dean was reminded of _why _they were so close to it, it lost its appeal to him, as he tried to think of anything but the hell they and Caleb were currently going through.

"I'm hungry," Sam said, tugging on Dean's arm. "Is there anything to eat?"

"No. Not unless I kill something. Even then I'd have to cook the meat, and there's nothing around I can use to start a fire."

"Okay," Sam said, sniffling back tears.

"We'll find something soon, Sam."

As they started walking again, Dean found himself tripping more often than usual, as he tried to cope with the intense hunger pangs that were ripping their way through his body. It wasn't used to being denied nourishment, and had started rebelling against the cruel treatment.

"Dean," Sam said, when Dean had almost fallen for the third or fourth time that morning. "Why don't you rest?"

"We _can't_," Dean said, shaking his head. "They could—they could find us."

"No," Sam said, shaking his head. "We're too far in by now, and we haven't heard any of them calling yet."

Dean shook his head. "I can't protect you if we're taken, Sam. I won't let that happen."

"But you could be hurt-"

"I'm _not_."

Even though he knew that was partially a lie. The stomach cramps had gotten worse, and he knew it was all a product of having not eaten anything in several hours, as he tried to breathe slowly through the pain, as he kept moving.

"Dean-"

"Sam! Leave me alone!"

Ignoring the hurt look on his brother's face, he took his hand and kept moving. When a twig snapped somewhere behind them, Dean spun around, his eyes searching frantically for the source of the noise, not trusting in the fact that it was simply an innocent animal.

"What is _that_?" Sam whispered, clinging to Dean's side for protection from the unknown intrusion.

"I don't know," Dean said, as he started moving in the opposite direction of the noise. "Let's go."

As he increased their pace, the mysterious noise continued to follow them. Feeling his heart race, knowing that it wasn't the cops having finally found them, he kept his eyes trained on all the parts of the woods that he could see, as he gripped Sam's hand, making sure that he was safe from harm.

"Who is it, Dean?" Sam whispered.

"I don't know-"

As they kept moving, the noise only seemed to get closer and closer to them as they kept a steady pace ahead of the stranger or thing that was stalking them.

"Dean-" Sam started to say, but cut himself off abruptly with a scream when the stranger suddenly stepped out in front of them.

"You damn idjits."

* * *

_The boys were lucky to survive the night in the forest. Unfortunately, theirs (and Caleb's) nightmare has just really started. _

_Honest opinion, guys!_


	10. Chapter 10

Dean could hardly _believe_ their luck, as he looked incredulously first at Sam, and then at the older hunter who had miraculously appeared out of _nowhere_. Momentarily stunned, he traded stupefied but _elated_ looks with Sam, before he stepped foreword and gave the experienced hunter a tight hug.

One of gratefulness, one of relief. It had been a long night out in the forest by himself, having to have the sole responsibility of Sam's welfare on his shoulders. He was more than relieved to be able to pass some of that on to Bobby now, as he stepped back, shaking his head in disbelief at their good fortune.

"How the _hell _did you _find _us?" Dean demanded, still in shock as he watched Bobby silently assess them for any possible injuries they might have gotten from their night adventure in the woods.

"When I heard what happened," Bobby explained carefully, seeing the way that Dean's face fell almost the second that he brought up any reference to where Caleb was. "And where you two _rugrats_," he said, giving them each a fake withering look, "ran, I realized that these were the same woods I used to hunt deer in."

"Are you _kidding_?"

What were the odds of Bobby knowing these woods well enough to be able to find them before anything _remotely_ serious had happened to them? It was a genius stroke of luck, and one that he _certainly _wasn't arguing.

"No. I found your sweatshirt," he added, looking over at Dean. "Nice move, idjit."

"Yeah," Dean said, lifting one shoulder in a shrug, as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I learned from the best." It hurt like hell to even _think _about Caleb right then, especially when he didn't know when he would have the chance to see him again.

"I guess you did," Bobby said, squeezing his shoulder in a rare show of comfort, as his grizzled face showcased a rare, warm smile. "Are you two alright?" he asked, giving them another once-over to make sure.

Apart from exhaustion, which was apparent on both of their faces, and maybe even a bit of dehydration, they didn't appear as though they had suffered too terribly much from their nighttime experience, although looks could be deceiving, and those two, especially Dean, were experts at hiding what was _really _going on.

"Yeah," Dean nodded, swallowing back the fresh lump in the back of his throat. "But—but have you talked to Caleb? Or Dawn? Is he okay?"

"I did. I spoke with Dawn this morning, and she's going to court to see if she can arrange for me to have temporary custody of you two."

"What does that mean?" Dean asked, as he watched Sam jump into Bobby's arms in pure joy of finally having an adult present, as he gave him a big hug.

"It means," Bobby said, as he returned the bear hug that Sam was giving him. "That until all this is resolved with Caleb, I will have custody of you temporarily."

"So we won't have to go anywhere?" Sam asked, as Bobby let him down.

"Not unless a judge denies her motion."

Bobby doubted he would—CPS always wanted to have the option of placing the children with someone familiar, someone that they knew, as opposed to shipping them off to someplace strange and unfamiliar to them.

Until Caleb's court battle was done with, he would be the perfect candidate to help them out. Besides Caleb and Jim, Bobby knew those kids better than anyone. He knew their individual likes and dislikes, and he knew their unique and different personalities like the back of his own hand.

"Will that happen?" Dean asked, as turned and started the slow and arduous walk out of the forest. It was a relief to be headed back toward civilization without the immediate fear of not knowing where they would be going.

"I doubt it. Dawn seems to think the judge will _prefer _having me watch you for the time being."

"The time being" meaning until Caleb was either convicted or acquitted of whatever charge the police had arrested him on, and until of course, he was cleared of the ridiculous abuse and neglect charges that CPS had sprung on him.

"What," Dean said, stumbling in his words as he tried to shove past the thick wall of grief and devastation that was rapidly clouding his brain. "What did they arrest Caleb on last night?"

Obviously it had _something _to do with them, but Dean had no idea _what_, and he wasn't even entirely sure he _wanted_ to know, either. It would probably only serve to devastate him further, and he wasn't sure he could handle the emotional hell of that.

"He was charged with kidnapping."

"_What_?" Dean said incredulously, momentarily halting in his tracks in complete shock at Bobby's words. "He didn't _kidnap _us. That's ridiculous-"

"The law is clear on that issue," Bobby said, when Dean started moving after he had gotten over the initial shock of his bombshell. "In their screwed up rat maze of a brain, he was trying to _elude _having to turn over custody to them, and that constitutes kidnapping."

"But he didn't—he didn't take us against our will!"

Dean knew that kidnapping had to include some kind of force or unwillingness on the alleged victim's part, and obviously there had been _none _of that on his _or _Sam's part. It was ridiculous how the law could twist things, make them impossible to understand, and the circumstances so bizarre.

"Dawn knows that," Bobby explained, as they finally reached the edge of the forest. "And that's why she's aiming for him to be charged with contempt instead of kidnapping. If the judge buys it, then the penalty will be _drastically_ reduced."

"How long would he get if he-"

"Got convicted of kidnapping?" Bobby finished quietly for him, as he opened his car door for the boys to slide into. Dean, not surprisingly, took the front seat, and Sam, taking full advantage of the open space he had in the backseat, sprawled out to rest more.

"Yeah," Dean said, bringing his hand up to his eyes to wipe away the few tears that had managed to escape past his determined wall.

"Dean, I don't want to upset you," Bobby began, clearly sensing how completely heartbroken Dean was that Caleb wasn't there, and _why _he wasn't there, and he knew the idea of how long Caleb could possibly get in prison, would completely shatter him.

"Well," Dean said, as Bobby started driving. "That ship sailed a _long _time ago, so you might as well spit it out."

"If the judge considers the circumstances surrounding the 'abduction', he said, using the term loosely, "to be serious enough, he could get life."

"In prison?"

"Yes."

Dean shook his head, bowing his head against the fresh torrent of pain, as he tried to take a few deep, steadying breaths to calm himself, but it was all in vain. They had already been through that once before, the threat of a life sentence hanging over their heads, and they had been lucky enough to escape out from under that the _first_ time.

Dean didn't know if he had it _in_ him to survive through something like that again, being cut off from his guardian and confidante and not know if he would ever see him again, or if he was alright or not. It was all too much for him, and as he leaned his head against the cold window, he tried to think of anything _but _what Bobby had just told him, and he couldn't.

"He didn't do anything," Dean whispered brokenly, as he raised a trembling hand to attempt control over the determined waterworks. "He doesn't deserve this _crap_."

"I know that, Dean," Bobby said carefully, "and hopefully a judge or jury will see the same thing that _we _do."

"If he has to stay in jail," Dean said, "can I see him this time?"

Last time Caleb had been in jail for an extended period of time over a murder charge, Jim had barred his attempts to visit Caleb while he had been housed in the detention center, fearing that the emotional trauma from such a visit, would trump the positive of seeing Caleb.

"Why don't we take that one day at a time?" Bobby suggested, instead of delivering an outright no to Dean's request.

"Okay."

"If you go, can I go?" Sam asked.

"I don't think so," Dean replied, giving Sam a watery smile. "It will be too upsetting for you, I think."

"I'm not a baby!" Sam argued, his chest puffing out in characteristic indignation.

"It's not _about _that," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "It's about the fact that-"

"It will be very upsetting," Bobby interjected. "You might see things that really make you sad, Sammy."

"Like what?"

"Like _nothing_," Dean said firmly, wanting to protect his little brother from what _he _knew to be true about the messed up jail system they had, and how they took sadistic pleasure in tormenting their prisoners, and making them wear cuffs and prohibiting physical contact between them and their family.

Much to Dean's relief, Sam seemed to get the message and dropped the issue with a quiet "okay."

"So where are we going?" Dean asked.

"The safe house."

"Good."

It was the only place on planet earth that was safe for them at the moment. The house had pure iron surrounding it, as well as on most of the fixtures _inside_ the house, and had holy water running through the sewers, as well as salt bags placed strategically in every room in the place.

It was a genius idea for hunters to have a place like that to retreat to, and they had taken full advantage of the one that Bobby had secured for them, especially with the threat of YED still out there, still as present as ever.

"We should be there soon."

Dean nodded, chewing on his thumb to numb the pain that Caleb's arrest had brought out in him. "So what's going to happen now?"

"Until the judge decides where you two will go, you'll be allowed to stay with me, and then that way you'll already be with me if the judge decide to go ahead and grant me temporary custody."

"Okay, cool."

It would be comforting to Dean to be with someone that he trusted with not only _his _life, but with Sam's, as well. Bobby _wasn't _Caleb, but at least he had all the knowledge of the supernatural that he needed, in order to make sure they were properly protected.

"Can we get pizza?" Sam asked. "I'm _hungry._"

"You and that stomach, boy," Bobby said, shaking his head. "I think we can arrange something."

* * *

Caleb was, of course, denied bail before his arraignment. It didn't come as a surprise to him, although it was disheartening to realize that he would be subjected to more hell behind bars, as he waited for his day in court. For the most part, he was left alone, for which he was grateful.

The only times he had to look foreword to, were the times that Dawn came to see him. The last time she had come, had been to inform him that the boys had been missing. Since then, he hadn't heard another word from her about them, and that had driven him crazy with worry, and desperation at not being able to escape from his cell, and go seek them out.

"Hi," Dawn said, once she had finally come to see him again. "I have some news?"

"Are the boys okay?"

"They are. Bobby actually managed to find them. He knew the area well, and was able to go in and locate them."

"And they're not hurt?" he pressed anxiously.

"No, not at all."

"Good. So what comes next in terms of them?"

"Well, I have a hearing in family court with Bobby, and I will try my hardest to secure him temporary custody of them, at least until we can get you out and have you back in that position."

"Good."

One thing Caleb loved about Dawn, was how she worded things to him. Whenever there was a serious life and death issue at hand, she never said "if" she always said "when" and that always, somehow, rose his spirits with the hope of things working out.

"So your arraignment is coming up tomorrow morning," she said, studying him closely.

"Yeah," he said. "What should I expect from that?"

"Well, you know the drill by now," she said. "You need to plead not guilty to the five charges against you right now. The abuse, neglect and now the kidnapping charge."

"Right. So how stiff is the penalty if a conviction happens?" Caleb wasn't stupid. He knew that sooner or later his luck with avoiding conviction, was bound to end sooner or later if the DA kept coming after him for bonus charges.

"_If _it happens," she warned, "I'll do everything I can to avoid that."

"What are you talking about?" he demanded, feeling his heart soar into his throat.

"The penalty for kidnapping _generally, _is life, and the four other counts of abuse and neglect, will probably be thirty years combined."

"So life plus thirty years for those, then?"

"Yes. But," she said, seeing his body crumble completely with that terrifying knowledge. "In regards to the kidnapping case, there are mitigating circumstances that any judge will consider before passing on that harsh of a sentence."

"Like what?" he asked, his voice weak.

"Well, with kidnapping, the laws in Minnesota are very clear in those regards. The kidnapper has to have taken the child or children for a malicious reason. You know, for ransom or to cause bodily harm to them. None of those apply to you."

"Hell no."

"And the victim or victims, had to have been unwilling to go, they had to be forcibly taken."

"And that _certainly _doesn't apply to this case," Caleb said. "Hell, put that idiotic cop on the stand and he'll tell you that Dean _lost _it when he told him that I had been arrested."

"Exactly, but I'm actually going to request that the judge throw _out _the kidnapping charge altogether."

"What do you mean?"

That was good—it gave him the slightest glimmer of hope that if Dawn played her cards right, she could score another miracle for him.

"What happened in this case, it doesn't really _define _kidnapping," she explained. "I'm going to ask that the judge replace it with contempt of court, and if the judge actually _agrees _to that, then the amount of time you'll probably end up serving, is very small."

"Like what?"

"Contempt cases are notorious for resulting in lighter sentences for the accused. A few days, if that most likely."

"Alright. So is this going to happen before I have to plead?"

"I'll ask the judge if we can address it before you enter your plea."

"Thank you."

* * *

Even though Caleb had been through this all once before, he evidently hadn't gotten used to the embarrassing process of being cuffed and shackled for transport to the county courthouse. As he winced when the restraints were slapped on, he tried to imagine a good outcome for today.

Even if the most severe charge of kidnapping _wasn't _dismissed that morning, he still had hope that he would be granted bail, and would be allowed to wait out whatever trial happened, from home. And even if the judge barred him from having any contact with Sam or Dean like Dawn suspected he would impose, he knew that all he had to do was go to the safe house, which no one except for them knew about, and hunker down there with the boys and Bobby until the trial happened.

It was a long-shot. Because he had tried to run once, the judge would probably consider him to be a flight risk, and would probably deny him bond just for that reason. It made Caleb sick to even think about that, and he tried _not _to, as the guards led him through the halls of the courthouse until they reached the right door.

Grateful that the restraints came off right before he walked in, he automatically spotted Dawn at the defense table, and let the guards lead him over to her. Giving her an anxious glance, he fought to control his breathing, as he and the rest of the courtroom rose when the judge entered, before sitting back down again.

"Your Honor," Dawn began. "I know that this is an arraignment for the charges that my client is facing today, but I wanted to know if there was any possible way we could address something else first?"

"No. We have limited time this morning," the judge replied. "He has to plead right now, to the charges on the indictment."

"I'm sorry," she whispered to Caleb, as she sat back down.

"It's okay."

The judge started off the proceedings by naming each charge, and the date and time they allegedly happened. After that, it was up to Caleb to either pledge his guilt or innocence as they pertained to the charges against him.

"As to the charge of count one, first degree abuse of a child, how do you wish to plead?"

"Not guilty," Caleb said.

"As to the charge of count two, first degree abuse of a child, how do you wish to plead?"

"Not guilty.

"As to the charge of count three, first degree neglect of a child, how do you wish to plead?"

"Not guilty."

"As to the charge of count four, first degree neglect of a child, how do you wish to plead?"

"Not guilty."

The last one was the most serious one, and Caleb hated the fact that the judge hadn't given Dawn a chance to get the charge either reduced or thrown out entirely.

"As to the charge of count five, kidnapping, how do you wish to plead?"

"Not guilty."

When the issue of bail came up, the prosecutors immediately raised the fact that he had tried to flee with the boys, and was therefore considered to be a "flight risk" and should be denied bond until the trial happened.

"Your Honor," the prosecutor said. "Mr. Rivers not only tried to flee with the boys, he _did_. He was caught outside of this state, in South Dakota. He has the means to do it again, he has a history of similar incidents, and he has the _tools _to hide himself. Last year, he was convicted of credit card fraud, and who's to say that he won't resort to those means _again _in order to hide himself?"

"This is no excuse," Dawn said, as she finally got _her _turn to speak. "But my client was and _is _scared. For nearly eight years, he has forged deep, profound bonds with those children, and they are his life, they are everything to him, and he did not want to lose them.

For nearly a _year_, the DA has mounted a _sick _witch hunt against my client. If it's not murder, it's fraud, and now kidnapping and abuse charges. I can _promise _you that if you let him out, your Honor, he _will _make his appearances."

After that, it was up to the judge to decide.

"Let me be clear on one thing," he said, addressing everyone in the courtroom. "I don't know what happened in Mr. River's previous cases within the legal system. I don't know. I want everyone to know that this decision is not meant as punishment, or retribution for anything that happened _before_."

Caleb bowed his head, shaking his head, as tears came to his eyes, as he tried his hardest to lift his head back up to listen to the rest of what he had to say.

"I do not know Mr. Rivers' character. According to the prosecution, he has a history of fraud and could certainly fall back on those means in order to flee the country." Caleb shook his head, as a tear slid into his mouth. "The fact that he made the choice to run in order to escape having to turn the boys over, is also troubling, it really is. I can't be sure of the fact that he won't try this again to avoid prosecution in _this _case."

"Your Honor-" Dawn began, seeing how devastated Caleb was.

"Bail is denied."

* * *

_Yay Bobby! Even though Dean is completely and utterly destroyed at what happened to Caleb, he still has Bobby and Sam, and that's what is keeping him going right now, especially with the knowledge that they'll be able to stay with Bobby while Caleb fights his battle in the courts. And poor Caleb! I swear, I don't like torturing this guy, I'm just trying to be realistic with my research, and that's what it said about flight risks, and previous attempts to flee being a factor in denying bond. _

_Honest opinions, guys!_


	11. Chapter 11

Stunned and devastated, Caleb allowed the guards to take him back to the jail without much of a fight. It was shocking to him that, for a crime that didn't even _involve_ someone getting injured, he had been denied bail. It had been his only hope of surviving through this in one piece, to be able to go home and wait out the inevitable trial from the comfort of his house, with his family by his side.

Clearly the judge didn't agree with his wishful thinking, and had made that clear when he had bought the prosecution's ridiculous argument that he was a "flight risk", someone who had the means and the power to run from prosecution. As if he would do that, (even if the idea was _extremely _tempting) and risk being in a position to lose the boys for _good_.

Because of the DA's powerful words, the judge had closed the book on his freedom. For now, at least. Sitting in his cell, he scrubbed an exhausted hand over his face as he tried to see a silver lining in _any_ of this. At least the boys were safe with Bobby, at least his attempts at running with them instead of going to CPS, had paid off in that Bobby had been allowed to keep them for the time being.

But that was pretty much it.

Everywhere he looked, he was trapped.

Again.

The cell had become his bedroom. Or tomb. When he had those bad days where he envisioned being imprisoned in that awful place forever. For twenty-three hours out of the day, except for when Dawn came to see him, he was stuck in there. Meals, for the most part, were served in the cell, except for those rare instances when the new inmates were allowed out in their cellblock to socialize with their more integrated inmate neighbors.

But he was tired.

Just like before when he had been in jail for those horrific three months, sleep had become elusive to him, abandoning him at a time when he needed that sanctuary the _most,_ even if only for a few hours. It was the only escape he had, to be allowed to lay his head down on the uncomfortably hard pillow, and sleep.

Eventually his body always won the battle against his mind, but it was a long time getting there, and by the time he finally _did _drift off to meet the rain man, it was almost time to start the morning routine all over again.

"Hi," Dawn said, as she sat across from him in the small, dark, conference-style room.

That was one improvement from his original stint behind bars. Unlike the glass-to-glass meetings that inmates usually had with their lawyers, Dawn had arranged for them to meet inside a small room. Of course there were guards stationed on the outside of it, but at least he could actually converse with her privately face-to-face.

"Hey," he said, scratching something on his arm. "What the _hell_ happened?" he asked, trying _not _to sound bitter when it wasn't _her _fault that he had been denied bail, but it was still extremely frustrating that he was back in the same boat _all_ over again.

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I didn't see any problem with you getting it, but when the prosecution brought up the issue of you possibly being a flight risk, it changed things in the judge's mind a little bit, I think."

"What the hell does being a flight risk even _mean_?" Caleb demanded.

He wasn't a lawyer—he didn't know half of the words that Dawn threw around sometimes, but this one he _needed_ to know about, because it was the same issue that had gotten him subjected to more time spent in that hellhole.

"It means that you either have the means," she explained. "Or the power to run. Either you have the money to do it, or you have outside help aiding you. Or any combination of the two, and especially when you have a history of running, like you were caught doing with the boys, it creates an issue for the judge because _he _has to decide if you'll be responsible enough to show up for court, and not try to flee the country."

Caleb shook his head; the decision to run kept coming back and biting him in the ass. It had been done to protect the boys from potential harm from the YED, and now he was paying for it in more ways than one, as he faced spending more time in his cell, his absolute _worst _nightmare, and having a kidnapping charge under his belt.

"So what are we supposed to do now?"

The idea of spending _more _time behind bars, was horrifying to him. It had been something he had had to go through with his murder trial, when people believed that he was honestly capable of doing such an atrocious act, but things were different now.

"I filed an appeal. It should be on Judge Grantski's desk by tomorrow."

"Tomorrow is...?"

"Tuesday."

It had been four days since he had been arrested, since he had last seen the boys. It was amazing how slow time went by when he had nothing to do but think about the impossible situation he had suddenly found himself in.

"What's the situation with the boys? Are they still with Bobby?"

"Yes. The judge in family court _did _give him temporary physical custody of Sam and Dean."

"And that will last...?"

"Until we can get you back in that spot," she said softly.

"_If_," he corrected quietly, not feeling so hopeful about his chances right at that moment. "_If_ I can get back in that position. _If_ you can somehow make the judge see _past_ this arrest, and the allegations, and _if_ I don't spend the rest of my life in prison."

"We still have another chance to get the kidnapping charge downgraded to simple contempt."

"When?"

"At the preliminary hearing—we'll be able to put all our ducks out for the judge to see, and I can make an _actual _argument against the charge, and see if the judge buys it or not."

"Well, he seemed pretty unsympathetic toward me," Caleb said, letting just a little bit of bitterness seep into his tone.

"I know, but he hasn't _completely _screwed things up for us yet. I need to know," she added, "do you want me to fast track these hearings so we can get you out faster?"

"I don't know," Caleb said, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. "Is it a good _idea _for you to do that? Will it impact the case at all if you do it?"

"The only time that's _not _a good idea, is when there's still evidence to be collected, when there's still potential witnesses to sort through, that sort of thing. At this juncture, I can get all that together and still fast foreword these hearings."

"If you can do all that and have the hearings moved up, that would be good."

"Okay."

"Would it help if I testify?"

Normally attorney's didn't like their clients testifying in their own defense for a number of reasons, but Caleb was willing to try anything if it meant that he could possibly get them to understand, and get the case resolved fairly and quickly.

"No," she said, without hesitation. "Because right now, they see _you _as a liar, as someone who is not at _all _reliable, and if you were to get up on the stand, they would grill you with all kinds of questions that you might not be able to answer, and then that would introduce a whole other problem we'd have to deal with."

"But if they hear it from _me_ that I wasn't trying to hurt the boys, I wasn't trying to escape-"

"Well, then they'd ask what your intentions _were_, then. It's unusual that a kidnapping case happens where the defendant wasn't trying to cause harm in some way."

"Yeah," Caleb said, looking down at his cuffed hands, it made him sick to know that those guards thought of him as dangerous, and so thought that it was necessary to restrain him like that. "But that _isn't_ what happened here, Dawn."

"_I _know that—_I_ know that you would rather fly to the moon than hurt those kids, but the people that matter in this case, don't know that."

Caleb shook his head in astonishment. "So right now, I'm stuck in here until the judge hears the appeal, and then what happens if he denies it again?"

"Then there's nothing else I can do. We'd have to wait until the prelim hearing, and see if the case gets dismissed there."

"Fat chance," he muttered darkly. "So what happens if I get out?"

"You'll have to be monitored since it's a kidnapping situation. That's actually one of the deals I'll try to throw to the judge. If you agree to near constant monitoring, will he reconsider his stance."

"And by near constant monitoring, you mean-"

"Having guards watch you, maybe, even have a tracking bracelet on your ankle. Anything really, but if you're out, that's what really matters."

"Yeah," he agreed. "That's true." Even though it would be mortifying to have to wear a tracking bracelet on his ankle, or have babysitters tail him everywhere he went. It would be a small price to pay if he was actually granted the freedom that he craved.

"So hang tight, and if the appeal is heard pretty soon, hopefully we can get you out of here."

"That'd be great."

* * *

"Hey, kid."

"Hey," Dean said, as he bent his head low to write something down on a piece of paper. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," Bobby said with a shrug. "How are you doing?"

Dean froze, not answering, as he hastily started writing again. Talking about his feelings, going anywhere in that forbidden ara, was something he tended to avoid at all costs. Talking about his feelings, verbalizing the impossible, wouldn't help anything. It wouldn't bring Caleb back from the hell he was going through, and it wouldn't stop any of the charges that had been brought against him.

Talking about his feeling was something he _only _felt comfortable doing with Caleb because he knew him _so_ well, even better than Bobby did, since he lived with them full time, and even though Dean adored Bobby, it was just something he _couldn't _talk about with him.

"Not too good?" Bobby ventured, not knowing that he was stepping into dangerous territory.

"Not really," Dean admitted. "I just don't want to go there right now, you know?"

"Yeah, I do," Bobby said quietly. "I spoke with Dawn."

"About what?" Dean asked, finally lifting his head to meet Bobby's gaze. "What did she say about Caleb?"

"Well," Bobby said, dreading this conversation more than anything with the already devastated thirteen-year-old. "The judge _did _agree to grant me temporary custody."

"Until Caleb can get it back, right?" Dean prompted.

"_Yes_," Bobby said slowly, "but right now that's not going to happen for awhile."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked, feeling his heart skip a beat and he couldn't understand why, couldn't understand why he was suddenly feeling so nervous, and he hated that uncertainty, the calm before the storm.

"Dean," Bobby said carefully. "The judge _denied_ Caleb's bail. He can't get out right now."

Dean _thought _he had been prepared for that heartbreaking news, but he wasn't. Not at all. As a small sob caught in the back of his throat, he tried to control it in vain, but it was impossible. For the second time in their lives, Caleb was stuck in jail for something he didn't do. It was horrific, and it was completely heart-rending for Dean.

"Why—why did they deny it?" Dean asked, once he thought he was finally strong enough to talk again.

"Because he tried to run, and the judge doesn't know if he can be counted on to make his court appearances. Dawn's filing an appeal right now, but there's no promise that it will work."

"So he has to sit and _rot_ because of what the judge _thinks _will happen?" Dean demanded incredulously, furiously swiping an arm across his eyes, determined not to break down completely, at least not in front of Bobby.

"It's a little more complicated than that, Dean, but for right now, the most _important_ thing is that she managed to secure the fact that I get to keep you and Sammy until this is resolved."

Dean nodded, bringing his hand up to his mouth to muffle his sobs, as tears leaked out of his eyes. If it wasn't Jim dying, it was Sam being kidnapped by the YED, and now Caleb being arrested and taken away from he and Sam again.

"Did—did Dawn manage to get the kidnapping charge dropped?"

"No. She tried, but the judge wouldn't even let her present her argument."

"Of course not," Dean said with a scoff. "That would make too much damn sense otherwise!"

"Dean, he'll be back before you know it."

"What if he's not? What if the prosecution _finally_ has a case this time and they lock him up for _good_?"

"But see," Bobby said gently. "That hasn't actually _happened_ yet, Dean, and I think you need to try to think on the positive side as much as you can."

"It's hard to do that right now, Bobby."

"I know. Where's Sammy?"

"Sleeping off that pizza."

"Doesn't surprise me. I have something that maybe you could do."

"What?"

"My friend is coming over later. There's a spirit case that's local, and he can't take it on right now. He's dropping off all his research on the case, and if you want, we can take a crack at it together."

Dean shrugged. "That's fine."

Even though he didn't feel like doing much of anything at the moment, he figured it wouldn't hurt to go on a job, especially if it was local and something relatively small if it was a typical spirit case.

"What are you writing down?"

"Oh," Dean said with a shaky smile. "Sam wanted me to write down some math problems because he isn't in school right now, and he wants to keep that dorky brain of his sharp."

"Gotcha," Bobby said with a chuckle.

"So when is your friend going to be here?"

"Pretty soon."

* * *

_Hopefully Dawn will be able to work her magic again and help Caleb get released during his trial! And poor Dean, he's just so heartbroken and devastated that Caleb can't be released right now. Hopefully whatever hunt Bobby's friend is giving to them, will keep his mind off the pain for awhile._


	12. Chapter 12

Even though Dean couldn't deny the fact that it would do him some good to busy his mind with something _other _than worrying about Caleb, and when he would see him again, it was still slightly disconcerting to be going on a hunt with someone that _wasn't _him.

For as long as he could remember, he and Caleb had an established routine when they went out on jobs together. It hardly ever varied except for when Dean was ready to advance to the next, precarious stage of training, and take on harder responsibility's.

It would be different working with Bobby—even though he trusted him and his judgment _implicitly_, it would still be a challenge to adjust to his different style of tracking and hunting than what _he _was used to when working with Caleb.

And he was also concerned about Sam. There was no one there to watch him while he and Bobby would be gone, and there was no way Dean would let this stranger watch him, or even entertain the idea of leaving him alone. If they were going to take on the case, they would have to let Sam tag along, even though the idea made Dean a nervous wreck.

"Hey," Bobby said, as he came into the kitchen where Dean had placed himself. "What are you doing?"

"Practice run," Dean replied, as he effortlessly assembled and _dissembled _their rock salt gun. "Figure I better get myself used to this again if I'm going out."

"Smart thinking, kid," Bobby said, as he sat down next to the thirteen-year-old. "You doing okay?"

"Yeah," Dean said with a shrug. "When is your friend going to be here?"

"Any minute now."

It had been awhile since Bobby had seen his oldest and dearest hunting friend. Even though a nasty incident years ago had severed some of that bond, they had always, somehow found their way back to each other in some way or another.

"And what's the case?" Dean asked, as he finally put the guns down, to focus on Bobby and what their job would be. It was important to remember those kinds of details.

"I'm not sure exactly—some spirit."

"Oh."

"And knowing Rufus," Bobby said with a chuckle, shaking his head. "That could mean just about anything."

"Oh?" Dean asked. "Is that good or bad?"

"Knowing him, bad."

That didn't ease any of Dean's uncertainty about possibly taking Sam on the job. If this was going to be an unpredictable case, he wasn't sure he wanted Sam in the line of fire, both literally _and _figuratively.

"So what about Sam? Are we going to take him?"

Before all this, Sam had accompanied his guardians on simple salt and burn cases, while he worked with Caleb on more physical combat moves to be able to safely go with them on more complex cases. It was scary for Dean to allow Sam to go when Caleb wouldn't be there to back them up.

"I don't see where we really have a choice," Bobby replied. "It's not like either of us feel comfortable letting the kid stay here alone." Even though the safe house would, undoubtedly, prove to be the safest place _for _Sam to be, instead of going on a potentially dangerous hunt.

"He hasn't really had the training for something like this," Dean replied nervously, as he watched Bobby for his reaction. "I just don't know if-"

"He's ready?" Bobby said, trying to suss out the situation. "Or if _you're _ready?"

It had only been a few days since Caleb's arrest, and while most of the initial shock had worn off from Dean's traumatized brain, the devastation and longing was only _just_ beginning to set in, as he chewed down on his thumb to distract himself from answering Bobby's loaded question.

When Dean realized that he was expecting an _actual_ reply, he shrugged. "I don't know. I don't want Sam to get hurt." It would be different, he figured, if Sam knew what _he_ knew, had the training that he had, but he didn't yet, and he would be a liability to his brother and Bobby, and be putting _himself _in danger, too.

"I don't want that either, but it's time he gets his hands dirty a little bit."

"I just want-" Dean trailed off abruptly, not willing to go any further, knowing that what he had been about to say, had the potential of hurting Bobby, and he didn't want that.

"You just want Caleb to be there?" Bobby guessed gently.

Dean nodded, turning his head to the side to avoid Bobby's pressing gaze. "It's just—I don't know..."

"You're more used to Caleb going with you," Bobby surmised.

"Yeah. He's been the one to work with Sam," Dean said, gritting his teeth against the pain that bringing Caleb up, inevitably brought to his heart as he used his arm to discreetly wipe the moisture from his eyes.

"I understand that. I know that Caleb's worked with _both _of you, right?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah."

"I know this is hard on you, Dean-"

"I don't want to talk about this," Dean said, rejecting Bobby's attempts at getting him to open up, as he started to get up, but was almost immediately stopped by the restraining hand that Bobby placed on his arm.

"Dean, you have to open up to _someone_ a little bit."

"There's nothing to say!" Dean argued. "He's stuck in that hellhole because _I _was the one who convinced him to run!"

It had been a feeling that Dean had struggled with ever since the police officer had told him that heartbreaking news that Caleb had been arrested for attempting to flee with them. In Dean's grief-clouded mind, if he hadn't campaigned so strongly for them to run, Caleb wouldn't have done it since he was always so opposed to it, and now Dean knew the reason for that.

"I have heard some screwed up things in my time," Bobby began, "but this is by far the _stupidest _thing I have _ever _heard."

"It's _true_," Dean said with a scoff. "He _never_ wanted to run, and then I hounded him until he did, and now look where he is!"

"Caleb is an adult, Dean. He made the choice to leave with you boys because he thought that he was doing what he could to protect you. That's all it's ever been about for him, making sure you boys are loved, protected and cared for."

Dean shook his head, putting his hand up to his mouth to quiet the violent sobs that were coming from him. "And now," he said, closing his eyes as more tears squeezed out of his eyes. "Now he's in jail again! Because of _me_."

Bobby shook his head incredulously, and also in sadness. The poor kid was only _that_, and he had placed so much blame and guilt on shoulders that didn't deserve that kind of pressure. "You know that's wrong, right?"

"It's not."

"_Yes,_ it is," Bobby contradicted. "It's not _always_ on youwhen something happens to one of us."

"It is _this _time."

"You think Caleb would want you to put this kind of crap on your shoulders?"

Dean shook his head, bowing his head as he tried in vain to reclaim control over his emotions, but it was impossible, not when what they were talking about, not when his mind had firmly given itself over to the emotions that it had been denying itself for days.

"I can't really ask him that, can I?" Dean said. "Not when some son of a bitch judge is keeping him locked in a _cell _all day long."

"You think what you _know_ to be true about Caleb, Dean, and you go off that. And you _know_," Bobby said, "that he would _never _want you to place the blame on yourself when _he _made the choice to leave."

"Yeah," Dean said, nodding his head. "Have you seen him yet?"

"Not yet—I'm supposed to go in the next few days."

When Caleb had been in jail for murder, Bobby hadn't been able to go with Jim to see their friend, but he knew that he couldn't just leave him there alone to deal with this by himself. It would be hard to see him like that, but he knew that what his friend was going through, would be worse than the trauma of seeing him in jail.

"Can I go?"

"Not this time," Bobby said. "I'll talk to Caleb about it, and if he thinks that it would be okay, then the next time I go, you can go for _sure_."

Dean sighed, nodding. "Okay," he said, knowing he would have to be happy with the knowledge that Bobby would discuss the possibility of him going the next time he made the trip to Minnesota. "When you go, can you stop at the house and get some of our stuff?"

"Yeah, Just write down what you and Sam need."

"Alright."

* * *

Rufus arrived a few minutes after Bobby and Dean's conversation. Dean was grateful for the distraction his appearance presented, as he tried to dry the irksome tears that seemed intent on staying for the long haul.

"Are these the kids that you've been babysitting?" Rufus asked, as he turned his attention to Sam and Dean, who had scooted closer on instinct toward his brother to protect him from this stranger.

"Shut up, Rufus," Bobby grumbled, as he cleared off a space on the counter for Rufus to dump his research. "What's the rub?"

"I don't know _what _this is actually," Rufus said, shaking his head. "It could be any number of things."

"I thought you said it was a spirit?" Dean said, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, well, sometimes the facts of the case _seem _to match up, and then it all explodes in your face. But this is either a twisted son of a bitch spirit, or it's something else-"

"Like _what_?" Bobby asked, his eyebrows fusing together in confusion.

"Well," Rufus said, "this spirit or _whatever _it is, only goes after children who have been bad, or have disobeyed."

"_What_?" Bobby said incredulously. "What the hell kind of spirit would make that kind of distinction?"

"That's you, Sam," Dean said, cracking a rare grin.

"No," Sam said. "That's _you_."

"Nope," Dean said, shaking his head, as he picked up one of the pieces of research and looked closer at it. "So this may not even _be_ a spirit at _all_?"

"That's the big question mark," Rufus said. "It has some of the makings of a typical spirit haunting, but there are some things that makes me question it, and I can't take this on full time."

"Why the hell not?" Bobby shot back.

"Because I want to get the hell away from your face as soon as possible," Rufus said, giving him a mock glare.

"How long ago did you guys meet?" Sam asked, following their argument with amused eyes.

"Way back," Bobby replied, rolling his eyes.

"I'm surprised your senile old brain remembers that far back," Rufus said.

Even though his comment only served to irritate Bobby, it brought an actual laugh out of Dean, who could never pass up the chance to give Bobby a hard time on the best of occasions, and especially loved it when other people took the matter out of his hands.

"He's got you there, old man," Dean said, still smiling.

"You better watch it," Bobby warned. "This old brain might just remember to smack you within an inch of your life." Even though his tone held bite, there was none of the threat in it, as he was just glad that Dean was finding _something _to smile about again, even if it was at _hi_s expense.

"You'd smack this hot piece of ass?" Dean asked, opening his mouth in mock shock. "Wow, Bobby, cruel."

Beside him, Sam was giggling, clearly enjoying watching Dean and Bobby go back and forth. It was a nice breather from the tenseness and the drama that had permeated the house the last several days.

"Yeah, you better watch it, kid."

"We'll see."

"So," Rufus said. "You think you can take this on?"

"Don't see why not," Bobby said, shrugging.

"Alright, because if your heart can't take it," Rufus said mock seriously.

"You're the one with the damn pacemaker," Bobby shot back, shaking his head in irritation. "Get the hell out of my house before I shoot your ass."

"Alright, alright. Don't let this old Grinch bring you down too much," Rufus added, turning back to the boys.

"Oh, don't worry," Dean said. "I got him covered."

"Good to hear. Nice to meet you boys."

"You too," Dean replied.

* * *

_For me, it's about time that Bobby set Dean straight on a few things. Mainly his guilt over something that he had absolutely no control over. The poor kid needs to learn to stop shoveling all that blame onto himself. And I loved writing the Dean/Bobby/Rufus interactions. Another character besides Bobby that I miss on the show!_


	13. Chapter 13

Even though Dean could start to feel the familiar rush of excitement and adrenaline that always accompanied a hunt, he was nervous. This would be the first one that he would be going on since the disastrous one right after Jim's death, that had resulted in him getting those nasty bruises that had launched their entire nightmare with Caleb and the courts.

For Dean, it was hard to feel excited when he knew how _vastly_ different this job promised to be. It was one thing to go into a hunt with no expectations other than to defeat whatever spirit was terrorizing the family, and move on. It was quite another when he expected himself to be at the top of his game so he wouldn't give whatever demon or spirit who was terrorizing the kids, another chance to make another dent on his body.

The _last_ thing he _or_ Sam needed, was another reason for CPS to take them away. This time from Bobby, and he _knew_ what their destination would be after that: the foster care system where they could easily be separated by the cruelty of people who didn't understand how essential it was they be together.

And he was nervous about allowing Sam to accompany them on this hunt. It was one thing for his brother to go on simple salt and burn cases with a low fatality rate, but it was _quite_ another when he was brutally reminded of how many kids had died from this spirit or demonic entity singling them out because they had been "bad."

The idea that he would be letting Sam walk _directly_ into the line of fire, was something that he couldn't quite wrap his mind around, as he tried to distract it by taking apart their various array of shotguns for cleaning. It was a task that he could perform in his sleep without an issue, but it was something that would get his mind off the pressing concerns that he had for this job.

As he furiously scrubbed an arm across his eyes when he could feel the onslaught of approaching tears, he tried _not_ to think about Caleb, and how he _should_ have been on this case with them. He had been the one to start working with Sam, had been the one to teach Sam some of the more rudimentary safety skills that most of them already knew by heart.

He should have been there.

But he wasn't, and that was hard for Dean to accept, especially when cases like this happened. Bobby was supposed to go see him after the job was over, and while he would have given his right arm to be allowed to go back to Minnesota for the visit, he tried to calm himself with the knowledge that if Caleb approved it, he would be allowed to go the next time.

"Hey, kiddo."

"Hey," Dean said, as he lifted his head briefly to acknowledge Bobby's presence. The older hunter's friend, Rufus, had been the one to alert them to the fact that there was even a case at _all _in Sioux Falls. "Where's Sam?"

"He's getting ready to go. Since this one is local, there isn't a lot we need to take."

"Just the weapon bag," Dean said, as he finished cleaning the last of the guns, and put them in the travel duffel they so often used for occasions like that, "and the clothes on our backs."

"That's right. Are you okay to do this?" he asked, no doubt sensing how anxious Dean was about doing the job, especially when he knew that Dean preferred having Caleb go with him, and he didn't blame him.

"Yeah. I'm just nervous about Sam going. This spirit or _whatever_ it is, it sounds like it only wants to go after the kids. I'm just worried that something will happen."

"We won't let it," Bobby assured him. "Sam knows to stick close to us when we're out there, and I don't doubt that he'll listen to that rule."

Sam could be incredibly rebellious sometimes, especially against orders that he didn't like or understand. It was something that had gotten him in trouble many times over the last several years, and one flaw in his character that had resulted in him finding out about his family's secret hunting life.

Ever since then, he had been slower to directly disobey orders. Dean didn't blame him. The knowledge of the fact that his family hunted evil, had scared him greatly, especially when so much had happened right after that.

"I hope so," Dean said, as he stood up to stretch out the kinks in his back that sitting for so long had produced. "It's just..." he said, hesitating as he shrugged on his coat. "Isn't there anyone _else _that can take on this job?"

"Yeah," Bobby conceded, "there are, but I think it would do _you_ some good to get out of the house for a few hours. Busy your mind with something that _doesn't _involve Caleb or where he's at."

"You just kind of blew the lid on that one," Dean joked weakly, trying _not_ to let Bobby see how greatly his words had affected him.

"You know what I mean," Bobby said softly. "It will be good for you to be distracted with something positive."

"Yeah," Dean said, shrugging, as he looped his backpack over his shoulder.

Dean couldn't argue with that logic—it _would _be good for him to find something to do that would serve to eliminate the pain. At least momentarily, and help him forget the impossible situation that Caleb had found himself in.

"So are you about ready to shove off?" Bobby asked, gathering some of the research they would take with them for reference. "We just have to get Sammy."

"Yeah, I'm good," Dean said. "Does he know what to do?"

In a situation like that, it was essential for Sam to know what cues to follow, and when to stay back from the line of duty when they were on the field. It would be something that would challenge his self-control, but it was something that would also save his life.

"He does. I grilled him on all the things he's supposed to do when we go out. Mainly, the number one rule, is to not be too trigger happy, especially when we don't know what we're dealing with quite yet."

"Right. It could be anything. Spirit, demon."

"And we'll know more when we actually get there," Bobby said.

"How far is the town?"

"Only a few minutes drive."

"Oh, cool."

Since the job was local—it eased some of the uncertainty from Dean's mind when he knew that if anything unforeseen happened, all they had to do was retreat to the safety and privacy of the safe house to lick their wounds. Especially when he knew they would have precious cargo in tow with them.

"If anything starts to look like it might go wrong," Bobby said, as though he was reading Dean's mind. "We'll make a break for it, and come back here."

"_Promise_?" Dean pressed, his hazel eyes begging for the promise that if anything were to happen, they would be able to get out and get Sam out of danger.

"I promise, idjit."

There was no way that Bobby would risk the boy's lives for a job—even if it was one that required their help. There were other hunters in the area who would be more than happy to take it on, and he recognized that, he just hoped that something like a new hunt would get Dean's mind off the issues in their lives, and find a reason to be happy about something again.

"Hey," Sam said, as he came out of the bedroom with his Spiderman—themed backpack swinging off his shoulders as he bounced into the room, and sat down in between Dean and their newly appointed guardian.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean said, as he heaved a deep sigh, as he playfully shoved him. "You about ready to go and kill some nasty spirits?"

"_Yes_," Sam said, rolling his eyes as if it was a stupid question. "When are we going?"

"In a few minutes."

It pained Dean to know that, by necessity and survival, his brother had been forced to learn the truth about his family and what they _really _did. And even though it had come from him going against something that the guys had told him _not _to do, he had still learned about the hunting legacy his family had, and had to start being trained by Caleb to hone the skills that he needed to learn to survive.

"Sam," Bobby said, leaning toward the nine-year-old. "I know we already talked about this, but I _need_ to make sure that you'll listen to me when we go out."

"I will," Sam said without hesitation.

"Do you _promise_?" Dean pressed. "This is _serious_, Sam."

"I know, and I will!" Sam said, with a slight whine to his voice. "I _promise_."

"You have to listen to everything I say," Bobby warned. "You may not like what I tell you, but what I tell you could save your skin, boy. You have to have a tight hold over that part of you that may want to do the exact opposite, and realize that the adults know a little bit better than you do."

"I promise. I just want to go-"

"Not until we've established a few things."

"What _now_?" Sam challenged, rolling his eyes in a typical move when he was growing tired of a conversation, and just wanted it to be over. It was something that sometimes got him in trouble, and Dean knew that he was walking a thin line with Bobby, too.

"If I tell you not to shoot, if I tell you to stay by our side and not say a word, you'll do it?"

"_Yes!_"

"If I tell you to do something that you'll question, that you'll fight against-"

"Yes!"

"What if," Bobby said, glancing over at Dean as he spoke, knowing that when Dean had first learned this lesson, it had been hard for _him_, too. "I tell you to run?"

_That_ order got Sam's attention, as he looked at Bobby with his eyebrows raised in question. "Run?"

"Yes. What if the situation is looking pretty bad, and myself or your brother is hurt, and I tell you to run to save yourself. Will you do it?"

Sam didn't answer right away. It had always been his experience to do the _opposite—_to _never _separate from his family for _any_ reason, and what Bobby was ordering him to do, went against what Caleb had always taught him to do.

"Sam?" Dean prompted, dipping his head low to catch the gaze that his brother was avoiding giving he and Bobby. "We have to know if you'll be willing to follow our lead if we're going to take you out."

Dean didn't agree with all the rules that he had to abide by when he went out with the guys—but he knew that those rules weren't made to annoy him, they were made because they were the ones that had the highest success rate of keeping him alive. They would prove to do the same for his brother if he would be willing to listen.

"But," Sam said quietly, finally lifting his head to meet his brother's persistent gaze. "Caleb told us to never leave each other when we go out. He always told us to stay _together_."

"I know," Dean said, "but he also taught me when to realize when a fight _couldn't_ be won, and this is kind of the same thing."

"Odds are, it won't happen," Bobby assured him, seeing how upset Sam was starting to become, "but I need to know if you will or not."

"Yes," Sam agreed quietly.

"Do you promise?" Bobby said gently.

"Yes!"

"Sam, chill," Dean said, shaking his head. "He's just trying to make sure you won't suddenly go rogue on our asses, and do whatever the hell you want to do."

"I won't—I already said that a _thousand _times."

But the problem was that Sam had a habitual problem of not following the orders given to him when he was tempted to do something else, and Dean hated to think about what would happen if Sam was given the order to run, and he hesitated. It could mean the difference between life and death for him.

"Yeah, but the problem _is_," Dean said, "you have a history of disobeying direct orders. Remember when Caleb and Jim told you _not _to go snooping in my room?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

That had been where Sam had found their father's journal and had learned the horrible truth about their parent's violent deaths all those years ago.

"That was different-"

"It doesn't matter," Dean said. "It was something you had been told a _thousand_ times, and you still did it. So my question is this, will you disobey when we tell you something that could potentially be really hard for you to take?"

"I already told you I would! What about _you_?" Sam said suddenly, as he turned his sole attention on his older brother.

"What _about _me?"

"Caleb told you to stay when we were pulled over, and then when the cop told us that they'd arrested him, we bolted!"

"That was _completely_ different-"

"No, it wasn't!"

"_Enough_," Bobby interjected, when he saw the two about to erupt at each other. "Sam, do you promise to follow my lead throughout this _entire _job?"

"Yes."

"Okay, thank you."

Even though Bobby had doubts Sam would be able to pull it off perfectly, it would have to do for now. They couldn't spend the entire afternoon interrogating him when they had only a few hours until nightfall, and that was their agreed upon quit time for the day.

"Can we go now?" Sam asked, already rising to his feet in anticipation of going on his first real job.

"Yes."

* * *

It was nearing sundown when they arrived in the small town of Yankton, a few minutes from the safe house. It was a relief to Dean that they would be close in case anything happened to one of them. Even though the town was so close, and had been rocked by so many brutal murders of their kids, the case had been completely _off _their radar until Rufus had brought it to their attention.

"Which one do we hit first?" Dean asked, looking around at all the neatly manicured lawns, as he tried to imagine being in any of their shoes, having to experience the pain and shock of putting your kid to bed one night, and then waking up the next morning and discovering them dead, like all the victims had been found so far.

"Closest one," Bobby replied, as he kept his eyes on the address book on his lap, and the houses in front of him, as he mentally calculated the distance between each of the homes that had been hit so far.

"Which is right here, right?" Dean asked, as he pointed to one a few houses down.

"Yes."

Feeling his heart race the same way it did whenever he was about to interview a grieving family, he tried to control that feeling, as he scrubbed a hand over his face, as he kept his hand on the seatbelt, ready to release it the second they parked.

"Can I go in?" Sam asked, when they had pulled into the driveway of the Spanish-style home.

"Yes," Bobby said, as he turned around in his seat to look back at the eager nine-year-old, "but you follow my lead, okay?"

"I know."

"And _mine,_" Dean added defensively.

"And his," Bobby added, shaking his head in amusement.

"What's our cover?" Dean asked, as they started walking up to the front door.

"Uncle," Bobby said pointing to himself, "and you brats are my nephews."

"Not a big stretch," Dean said with a shrug, as he shared secretive grins with Sam. "Sam, not a word unless Bobby signals you, okay?"

"Okay."

The woman that answered the door was the mother of the child that had been found murdered in his bed. Leading them into the formal sitting room, she dabbed at her eyes while she regarded them with guarded curiosity.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude," she apologized, "but who _are _you people?"

"I'm sorry," Bobby said, "my name is Steven Singer, and these are my two nephews, Sam and Dean. They went to the same school your son went to, and we just wanted to know if there was anything we could do to offer our support to you during this time?"

"No, no, there's nothing-" her breath caught in her throat, as a small sob escaped from between clenched teeth. "My son is _dead_-"

"How did you find him?"

"What do you mean-"

"Just," Bobby said calmly. "Just please answer, it matters."

"In his _bedroom_," she replied stiffly, as she forcibly sniffled back some of her tears. "I put him to bed the night before, and then when he didn't wake up for school, I went up there to yell at him or something, and then he's _dead_."

Bobby nodded, trading tight looks with the boys. "How—how did you find him?" he asked, knowing that he was treading dangerous waters, as he searched her face for her reaction.

"In his bed. The sheets were soaked in blood, and there he was. My little boy, two holes in his neck."

"Two..._holes_?" Dean ventured.

"Yes. I told the police what I saw, and what I _thought_, and they think I'm crazy," she said with a scoff. "But how could I make something like this _up_?"

"The way police think," Bobby said, shaking his head in disbelief. "They could be adding up one and one and coming up with ten. Their way of thinking isn't always logical."

"Yeah, I guess."

"I'm sorry for asking, but before your son went to bed, had he had been misbehaving?"

The woman looked at him as though he completely lost his mind, but it was the million dollar question that would sew this case together along with all the others in the area. As he waited patiently for her to get the courage to answer him, he looked back at the boys.

Their expressions were unreadable, but he could see the way that both boys, Dean especially, was absorbing everything that was being said between the two, as they silently conversed together in the looks and head shakes they gave each other. It was the communication that only brothers could possess, as Bobby turned back to the woman.

"Yes, yes but we had worked it out!"

"I'm sorry for asking, thank you for your time."

* * *

"So what do you think?" Dean asked, as they left the woman's house a short time later.

They had made good on their self-imposed quitting time. The sun had barely set behind the trees, as they stepped into their car for the travel back to the safe house. Luckily for them, they didn't have to go far.

"Well, it looks like it could be a spirit," Bobby said, "but some of what happened to the kid, contradicts it."

"Unless the spirit wanted to play leech for a day," Dean said, putting his arm on the sill of the car window, as he looked out at the approaching darkness. "You think it could be something else?"

"Might be."

"Some of the forensic reports are included in the research that Rufus left. When we get back, we'll go through some more of that, and see if it matches up with what this vic had done to him."

"Okay."

"You know," Bobby said, as he glanced at Dean, and then back at Sam. "Caleb would be so proud of you boys for tonight. You handled it like pros, and good job, Sam, for _listening_."

"Thanks," Dean whispered, batting away fresh tears, as he used his hand to wipe them away.

"_See_?" Sam said, childishly sticking his tongue out. "I _told _you I could listen."

"Well, who knew you would decide _this _would be the night you told the truth," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "When are we going to be there?"

"Soon."


	14. Chapter 14

Even though he was exhausted from the half-night of hunting that he and Sam and Bobby had done, Dean fought the urge to sleep, as he and Bobby poured over the notes that Rufus had dropped off concerning the case. It was confusing, it had all the makings of a classic spirit case with a twist, but some of the evidence contradicted it.

It wasn't common for spirits to differentiate between their victims like this spirit seemed to be doing—normally they went after whoever they thought had wronged them in their old, living life, and haunted them and their family through the generations.

Hearing that a spirit (or demon, which was looking more and more likely) was going after kids who had misbehaved, was odd. It was almost like whatever was doing it, had taken it upon themselves to punish the kids, and send them into eternal timeout.

It didn't make sense.

Not that most jobs _did_, but at least in the other ones, they had something solid to go on; some other reference to back up their theories on what could be causing something so bizarre. Sitting at the counter, Dean swiped his eyes tiredly with his fingers as he fought to stay awake long enough to reach some sort of conclusion with Bobby.

Besides the research that they had spread out over their table, they also had lore books dating back tens of thousands of years, as they searched for any common link to thread it all together so they would know more about to go about killing this thing.

Whatever it was.

Stifling a yawn, Dean blinked several times as he turned the page of one of the history books. It was Greek lore, something that had always fascinated him, as he tried to make his eyes focus on the print before him, but it was all blurring together too much for him to make much sense out of the words.

"What have you got so far?" Dean asked, his voice heavy.

"Zilch."

"Well, that's about what I got."

"Let me see," Bobby suggested, as he took the heavy tome from the sleep—deprived teen. "You look like you're about to pass out."

"I _feel _like it," Dean grumbled, as he finally gave into temptation and let a yawn escape from the thick walls he had tried to erect around it. "I couldn't find anything in there, but that doesn't mean much tonight."

He could have found the answer to _all _their problems—and it would have completely escaped him, as he fought an inevitable date with unconsciousness. Even though he would have given his right arm to be able to go bed, he didn't want to yet, not until he and Bobby had made at least _some _headway in their search for answers.

Sam had long ago abandoned them—giving himself in to sleep when the immediate action was done for the night. The kid had done well, much to Dean's pleasant surprise, and had managed to listen to the orders that Bobby had given him without too much hassle, even when the slight pout had given away his secret disapproval.

"Well, you definitely earned a good one," Bobby remarked, as he bent his head low to investigate some finding that he had made. "I think I found something."

"How the hell did you do that?" Dean demanded. "I flipped through that _entire _book—twice."

"But you were also half-conscious," Bobby reminded him. "It's not definite, but it's a starting point."

"Is it a spirit?" Dean asked, as he leaned foreword eagerly to sponge up as much intel as he could from the older hunter. "Or demon?"

"Kind of..._both_, actually," Bobby said, as his eyebrows fused together in tight concentration as he focused on the text on the ancient pages. "It's weird."

"Well, keep the suspense going," Dean muttered sarcastically.

"It's a _mormo_."

"A _what_?"

_That _was new—something he had never heard of before—and he was sure that he had heard it all from the limited knowledge of monsters and demons that he possessed in his impressive storage bin of a brain.

"A mormo," Bobby said patiently. "It's a spirit," he confirmed, "but from the way it's told _here_, it also resembles something like a vampire."

"What do you mean?"

"A mormo is a nursery tale told to Greek children by their parents or nanny. Supposedly if the child misbehaves, the mormo will come and bite them. From what _they _describe, it's a spirit but it has all of the qualities and characteristics of a female vampire."

Dean shook his head incredulously. "So this spirit son of a bitch is going after kids because-"

"Because I bet you thousands of years ago, she did the same thing in her waking life, and then when she died-"

"She kept doing it," Dean guessed quietly. "So what now?"

"Because it's not fully a spirit, at least not in the technical sense," Bobby explained, shaking his head. "It says that you can kill it with a head shot, or a salt and burn."

"But we don't have the grave site," Dean reminded him.

"Exactly. It says that the mormo is most sensitive to modern—day weapons when its feeding."

"So what happens when it _starts_?"

"Nothing—it drains the victims of their blood. That's why the mothers all found their children soaked in blood the next morning. We wait, we set up shop and we watch until this thing comes, and then we hit it."

"With _what_?" Dean asked, wanting to be as well—versed on the plan as possible so there wouldn't be any nasty surprises later on.

"Clean shot to the head, maybe some salt rounds if the thing hangs on."

"Okay," Dean nodded. "When do we this?"

"Tonight in case it feels like going hunting."

"How do we know-"

"I cross—referenced all the houses," Bobby said, as he pointed them all out to Dean on the map that he had drawn up. "So far, all _these_," he said, "have been hit. _This _one," he said, drawing a red circle around it. "Hasn't."

"And this house has kids?"

"Yeah."

Dean nodded, definitely feeling more awake now, as he struggled out of his seat. "So you want me to get Sam up?" he asked, as he lifted his arms above his head to stretch.

"You can."

"Well, we aren't leaving him here," Dean retorted, as he grabbed their things.

"No, that's true."

* * *

Even though it was obvious Sam didn't like the idea that he was being awakened right after he had managed to go to sleep for the night, he couldn't deny the thrill of going out again after dark, even when they agreed _not _to do that, but the chance of finding and ending this thing, was too great.

"I thought we weren't hunting after dark," Sam said, his voice thick with the sleep that he had just been rudely deprived of.

"We weren't supposed to," Dean explained from the front seat, as he glanced anxiously at all the passing homes, eager to reach the right one. "But if we're right, this thing hunts only at night, and we know how to kill it."

"How?"

"Clean shot to the head," Bobby said. "And we have salt rounds to back us up in case."

In their weapons bag, they held all the machetes and rock salt guns that they could possibly need, as they neared the correct house. Heart hammering painfully in his chest, Dean waited for Bobby's cue before getting out.

"What are we going to say to them?"

"Nothing—we won't go in—not unless this thing makes an appearance."

"And it _will_," Dean said, shaking his head. "Sick freak."

Spirits and demons normally grossed him out, but this one took the cake. Going after children who had been bad. For thousands of years this monster had killed them for doing absolutely _nothing _wrong. A spirit that had been born out of a legend meant to scare their children, not _kill _them.

"What do I do?" Sam asked, his little voice trembling from a combination of the elements and nerves, as he stuck close to Bobby and Dean's side, as they crouched down under the bushes, waiting to hear any sound that came from the window right above them.

"Nothing—you arm yourself," Bobby said, as he passed over a shotgun to him. "You make sure the safety is on, and you wait for my cue."

"Okay. How do you know if we're under the right window?"

"We don't," Dean said, "but this is the only one we can position ourselves under."

Heart hammering in his chest, he fought the urge to run in and get the show on the road. It wouldn't help the victims, and it wouldn't help them save any lives, either, even though the temptation was strongly there for him.

"Just hang tight," Bobby whispered, sensing how tense the thirteen-year-old was. "We'll get there."

"I know."

Tightening his grip around the rock salt gun that Bobby had passed over to him, he tried to breathe through the adrenaline that was rapidly assaulting his senses, as he tried to think of a successful outcome to this case, and have a resolution before anyone else got hurt.

"Do I shoot?" Sam asked.

"You can if you have a clear shot," Bobby replied, "but you stay behind me and Dean _always."_

"Okay."

It seemed to take hours, but within minutes actually, they heard the first screams. Breaking the door down, Bobby took the stairs three at a time as he and the boys searched out the correct bedroom.

Standing over the small girl, her eyes wide in terror as she stared up at the thing standing over, her eyes flew to the people who had just broken into her room.

"Get down!" Dean yelled. "Under your bed!"

Not wasting a second, she did as she was told as she rolled over onto the floor, and under her bed. The vampire/spirit was clearly stunned that it had been caught, as it glanced anxiously around the room, clearly knowing that it was trapped.

"Hope you had fun," Dean said, as he shot a round at its chest just on principle alone.

"And I hope it was worth it," Bobby said, as he took a step closer and took a clean head shot with the machete that he had brought with him.

"Sam," Dean said, never taking his eyes off the spirit. "Make sure she's okay."

Obeying that order, Sam leaned down on the ground as he checked her over for any injuries. The girl was fine, shaken but fine, and her parents who had barged in the second they had heard the commotion, were understandably horrified, but relieved that whatever had been killing those children in the neighborhood, had been caught.

A successful job well done.


	15. Chapter 15

"Morning, kid."

"Hey."

"Sleep good?" Bobby asked, as Dean took a seat at the table where Bobby had laid out some toast and eggs. "Or was your mind jumping around too much to achieve much?"

Dean shrugged as he helped himself to some of the delicious food. "It wasn't too bad," he murmured softly.

After they had successfully stopped the spirit (or demon, he wasn't sure which) he had finally been able to go to bed with the knowledge that it was done and over with. The demon was gone, and would no longer be able to terrorize the innocent youth of the small town it had decided to haunt.

It had been a relatively easy hunt. The one thing that Dean, in his devastated and grief—filled mind, had needed at the time. Even if he wasn't consciously _aware_ of that fact, (as he had fought Bobby tooth and nail about the idea of going), but in the end he had been glad that he had caved and had allowed himself to go.

"Good. No nightmares about blood-sucking spirits?"

"I don't _get _nightmares," Dean said, throwing him a fake withering look, as though the idea was ludicrous that _he _would be plagued with nightmares. One would think that he would be used to their powerful hold by now, but he never was, and he never liked to admit to them, either.

"Yeah, right," Bobby said, clearly not convinced.

"It wasn't _too_ bad," Dean conceded.

"Good."

"So what are we doing today?" Dean asked, as he chowed down on his food. "Where's Sam?" he added, suddenly realizing that his little brother was nowhere to be seen, when he was usually the first one up.

"Still sleeping," Bobby replied. "And I checked, don't worry," he added, seeing the look on Dean's face. "And as for today," he hesitated, as though he _knew_ what he was about to divulge, would hurt Dean. "I'm going to Minnesota."

"To see Caleb?" Dean asked, bowing his head low to shield his face from the pain that must have been clearly written across it, as he focused determinedly on the food in front of him, willing himself not to cry and turn himself over to those ugly emotions that the job had momentarily relieved him from.

But the case was over with now, and he had to deal with the fallout from that, mainly coming down from the toxic adrenaline rush that always soared through his veins, and now the added reminder that Caleb was still gone, still in jail for something he had had no choice in.

It had been nice to forget that depressing fact, but now he was back down on earth, and all the horrors that went along with it, as he scrubbed a hand over his eyes, as he sniffled back some moisture that was battling for dominance over his shaky self-control. It wasn't a bad thing to cry, he knew, but he always harbored the secret fear that if he _really _gave himself over to it, he wouldn't be able to stop, and that was what he _couldn't _handle.

"Yeah," Bobby said carefully, sensing how sensitive the subject was for Dean. "And then I'm going over to your house to get the stuff you and Sam need."

"Are you _sure_ I can't go?"

"Not this time," Bobby said softly. "When I see Caleb later, I'll ask him if he thinks you can come with me next time."

"What if he says no?" Dean challenged, knowing how protective Caleb was over them, and that also included shielding them from things that he knew would upset them, and seeing him in jail and in full-on jail garb, would undoubtedly be one of those things.

"Then we'll take it one day at a time."

Dean shook his head with a quiet scoff. "I went _three months _the last time this happened. I don't think I can make it for round two."

It was the truth—the last time Caleb had been incarcerated for murder, he and Jim had collectively decided that, for Dean's own mental well being, he shouldn't be allowed to see him. The decision had gutted Dean, and it had made for a long and often unbearable three months.

It was horrifying to imagine being in a similar situation yet again. Dean didn't know if he could stomach something like that happening again. There was more at stake this time. For Dean, he had already lost Jim, something that _still _clawed at his heart, and now he was supposed to reconcile himself to the fact that he might lose Caleb _again_?

"It might _not _be three months," Bobby reminded him. "You don't _know_, Dean."

"Yeah, you're right," Dean said, as he slammed his plate down on the table, fully aware of how childish his actions might be perceived as he threw himself around the room. "It might be _longer_. What if those _idiotic _sons of bitches _actually_ convict him this time?"

Then Dean knew what the penalty would be—life plus whatever sentence he got for the abuse charges. It was horrific to know that, in his eyes, every DA and prosecutor in the town, had it out for Caleb, someone that they didn't know from a hole in the wall, and someone they perceived to be a threat, even when they didn't know the _half _of it.

"It might," Bobby offered bluntly, "but he has good representation, Dean, and if anyone can figure this out for him, it would be her. If you have to wait a little while to see him, Dean, it will be okay. _You _will be okay."

"I don't even want to go _back_ to Minnesota," Dean said, shaking his head as he gritted his teeth against more of the waterworks that he hated. "There's too much pain there." Jim had died in his church there, and now Caleb was back in jail for another horrifically serious charge.

There was nothing good or happy for them _there_ anymore.

"You also had a lot of years there, Dean, when it was _good_."

"That was in the past."

He _did _have good memories of Minnesota where things hadn't been so impossibly hard, but that was in the past. The recent hits they had taken in their town, was hard to move past for Dean. It was where Jim had died, it was where he had gotten those bruises from the spirit, and it was where CPS had initially launched their investigation into his family.

"True," Bobby conceded, not able to argue Dean's point when the evidence was laid right out in front of him. "You want to move someplace else?"

"If he gets out and wants to move, then yeah."

He wasn't sure how Caleb would feel about the idea of moving—although he couldn't really see _why _he wouldn't—he had been the one to pay the harshest price for what the DA thought of him. The emotional turmoil that Dean was going through, paled in comparison to the fear and uncertainty that _Caleb _was going through.

"You guys might be better served to just hang out here for the time being. At least until Yellow-Eyes is finished." It was the only residence that offered them complete protection from the YED.

"Yeah," Dean said with a shrug. "So when do you leave?" he asked, glancing over at the Chicken-themed clock that was hanging above the sink.

"Pretty soon. I want to get there fairly early so I can see him, and then go by your place and get your things, and then get back before it gets dark."

"Right," Dean said, as he cupped his hand under his chin. "What are the rules?"

It wasn't often that they were left alone—especially recently with the threat of YED still so strong. When they _were _left alone, the guys almost always left them with rules to follow. Some were the classic ones that parents often left their children with, but some were more tailor—made for their situation, and ones that were even _more _important than the ordinary ones.

"Don't answer the door or the phone," Bobby said, beginning to list off the orders that Dean was to follow while he was gone. "If it's me, I'll call once and then hang up."

"Okay."

"If someone gets in, shoot first and then ask questions later."

Not that Bobby _or _Dean seriously entertained the idea that a demon would be able to break through the sigils and wards that surrounded the house, but it was always best to be prepared just in case the unthinkable happened.

"And then what?"

"Get me and Sammy out. I know."

"Okay. Tell Sam I'll be back by mid-afternoon."

"Got it."

"Okay," Bobby said, as he grabbed his coat and trucker cap. "Be _careful_."

"I know," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "Have fun," he said dryly.

"Idjit."

* * *

To a certain degree, Bobby was used to walking into jails to talk to the poor idiots who had fallen victim to whatever spirit or demon Bobby happened to be hunting that week, but this was completely different. He had never been in a position before this, to have to walk into the detention center to see his friend.

It was surreal.

And for the first time, he understood what Jim had meant when he had confided in him how difficult it had been to leave his good friend in that place, especially when he hadn't done anything to deserve it.

It was incredibly difficult to walk into the jail to see Caleb, and be reminded of the fact that he wouldn't be allowed to bring him home to the boys, who were both missing him and wanting to see him desperately, especially Dean.

Thanks to Dawn, instead of the usual glass—to—glass meetings that inmates and their family's were usually forced to have, she had arranged for them to meet in the same room that she and Caleb now held their meetings.

No physical contact of course, but it was preferable to being forced to converse through glass. When the guards finally appeared and led a cuffed Caleb in, Bobby tried to ignore the degrading and horrific restraints they had him in, as the guards sat him down at the table across from Bobby, before leaving to stand on the other side of the door.

"So," Caleb said, after a few minutes of silence between the two, both clearly wondering what to say. "Thanks for-" he tapered off with a small smile. It was hilarious and also depressing that he was trying to come up with the words to _thank _his friend for visiting him in _jail. _

"You're welcome," Bobby said, catching the underlying meaning. "I just have to get this off my chest," he began seriously.

"Okay," Caleb said, with a slight smile. "What?"

"Orange is _not _your color."

He was relieved when his remark brought an actual laugh out of his friend. If anyone needed to feel some sort of humor, it was Caleb. "No," he admitted. "It's not."

"Do they have you in that jumpsuit all the time?"

Caleb nodded. "Yeah, except for when we shower. I think when I get out," he said, as he scratched something. "I'm going to raid my closet and throw out all my orange stuff."

"Sounds like a plan to me. This might be a foolish question to ask, but _how _are you?"

From all outward appearances, Caleb _looked _okay. His color was good, slightly pale, and his weight was still the same as Bobby remembered it from the last time he had seen him. But that was all external, the emotional part was what Bobby was worried about the _most. _

He knew how hard it was for Caleb to be incarcerated, especially for something he hadn't had any control over, and he knew how difficult it was for him to be separated from the boys, especially when so much danger and uncertainty surrounded them now by the YED.

"I'm..." Caleb hesitated, as he tried to consider how to word the answer to him. "I have good days and I have bad days." It was the most honest reply that he could have come up with. Some days were much easier to bear, especially if he had visitors like Dawn or Bobby, and some days were harder, the days where he was mostly confined to his cell for the day.

"I'm sure. Have you heard anything from Dawn lately?"

Caleb nodded, heaving a deep sigh. "Yeah. She's...she started the appeals process, but there's no guarantee that it will work," he said, as his eyes momentarily teared over, before he shook it off. "And even if it _does_, there's no telling how long it will take."

Being able to be released early on appeal, was the only hope that Caleb had of being granted freedom before his trial started. There was really no doubt in his mind that, with the sheer amount of evidence against him, especially with his new kidnapping case, that there would be any other outcome.

It scared him.

He had been extremely lucky to escape conviction on his murder trial, but he wasn't sure when his luck would run out when it concerned the sadistic and overzealous prosecution that seemed intent on making his life a living hell.

"If you go to trial," Bobby said carefully, seeing the way that Caleb winced when he talked like that. "Will you be able to get out before that?"

"Depends—if the judge hears it before then, but there's no promise that it will work. The other judge denied me bail for a reason, and I don't think it will be any different with a new one."

"Because you were considered a flight risk?" Bobby asked gently.

"Yeah."

"What happens if the judge agrees to set bail?"

"There'd be conditions attached to it. I'd either have to wear one of those ankle monitoring things, or I'd have to have _actual _guards follow me around."

Bobby shook his head incredulously. "They actually think you're dangerous."

"What was your first clue?" Caleb said, shaking his head. "I thought I was doing the right thing in running, but all it's ended up doing, is causing one hell storm after another."

Having something like _this _happen was one of the reasons he had been so opposed to running in the first place. It had been done to protect the boys from being turned over to the custody of the state, but it had ended up causing them to lose yet another person in their ever growing list of people.

"You had to do it," Bobby said, shaking his head. "That Yellow-Eyed son of a bitch is still out there, and if you had just willingly turned those boys over to CPS, you would have no idea what kind of danger you'd be putting them in."

Caleb nodded, raising his hand to wipe away a stray tear. "Yeah, I know."

"I worked a case the other day."

"Where?" Caleb asked, figuring it wouldn't hurt to live vicariously through Bobby for a few minutes, and propel himself into a world where he wasn't stuck behind bars all day.

"It was in Sioux Falls, actually."

"Oh?" Caleb said, as he raised an eyebrow. "That was a lucky strike. What was the job?"

"Wrap your brain around this—a _mormo._"

"A _what_?" Caleb said with a small laugh. "What the hell is a mormo?"

"A _nasty _vampire/spirit type of deal."

"What's the story behind it?"

"It supposedly originated in Greece—the mother's or the governesses told the children that if they were bad, the mormo would come and bite them."

"So it skipped a couple thousand centuries and landed in South Dakota?" Caleb said, shaking his head in amusement.

"Basically—my friend Rufus—remember him?"

"Yeah. Cocky, arrogant. I think so," Caleb said with a hint of amusement in his tone.

"He brought the case over, said he couldn't take it on."

"So you did?"

"Did I have a choice?" Bobby asked pointedly.

"Guess not," Caleb said with a smirk.

"It was good, though, because I roped the boys into going."

"Seriously?"

Bobby nodded. "They _both_ did _really_ well, and it was good for Dean to get out of the house and center his noggin on something that didn't involve thinking about the current situation."

Caleb nodded. "How did Sam do?"

It was rare that Sam got to go out on jobs since he had just started the kind of training that would enable him to do the kind of jobs that his older brother did. Hearing that he had gotten his hands dirty in an _actual _job, was bittersweet for Caleb to hear.

"He did good—Dean and I interrogated him before we left, told him about a thousand times to listen to us at all times, and not pull any crazy moves. He didn't, either, he listened."

"Awesome. So how's Dean dealing with all this?"

By "all this" he meant his forced separation from he and Sam, and the knowledge of where he was. It was a situation that he had been in before, and one that neither of them thought they would have to be in again.

"He's like you. He has his good days and bad days," Bobby said carefully. "He, of course, wants to be allowed to come with me to see you. I told him no this time, but that I would talk to you and see what you thought."

Caleb nodded thoughtfully. It had been the same issue with Dean when he had been in jail the year before for awhile. While Caleb would have given his right arm to be allowed to see the boys, and be that everyday presence in their lives like they were used to, he knew it wasn't entirely possible right now, and he knew that while Dean wanted to see him, he also wasn't aware of how emotionally upsetting it would prove to be for him.

"I guess I just can't get past the fact that this would be hard for him," Caleb said. "I know he _wants _to see me, but is it the best thing for _him_?"

"I don't know," Bobby said. "He was pretty...vocal about the fact that he didn't think he'd be able to go another three months without seeing you."

"Well," Caleb said. "I want to see him, too. I want to see _both _of them, but is it the healthiest option for them?"

"I don't know about Sam," Bobby said, "but I don't know what to think about Dean."

"Put it to him like this," Caleb said, getting an idea. "If he _really _wants to see me, then he can. But remind him of the fact that he waited until I got home last time, and when he finally _did _see me, it was better because there weren't any rules, there weren't any restrictions, and he could hug me all he wanted to. It wouldn't be like that here."

"That's true."


	16. Chapter 16

It was hard for Dean to be stuck at the safe house with Sam, while Bobby went on ahead to Minnesota. It was hard for him to realize that while Bobby would be getting the chance to see Caleb, something that Dean would have given his right arm to have been allowed to do, he was stuck playing babysitter to his brother. Not that he _minded_ that role necessarily, it was just the timing of it that was getting on his nerves, as he tried to shove as much of the negativity down as he could.

It wasn't _Sam's_ fault that Caleb was in jail—that was on him—not his little brother, and it wasn't Sam's fault that Dean was dealing with the ugly fallout of Bobby's decision to _not_ take him to see their once again jailed guardian.

But it was still difficult for Dean to reconcile in his mind, as he tried to make the most out of a pretty hopeless situation. Bobby promised that he would be back by late afternoon at the latest, and so he tried to hold onto that general timeline, as he and Sam went about their day.

There wasn't much to do except watch TV, and in Sam's case, rope Dean into writing down homework problems for him to work his brain with. While Dean secretly envied his brother's drive for academic success, he would have much rather spent his day training or working out, or a combination of the two.

It wouldn't be like that for him—not until Caleb was firmly ensconced back in their lives to do their daily training rituals. Truth was, he _could _work out with Bobby, and would probably get the same sort of satisfaction that he always got at the conclusion of a successful training session, but it wouldn't be the same without Caleb there.

"When is Bobby going to be back?" Sam asked, as he walked into the living room where Dean was lounging on the sofa, trying to lose himself in the sports magazine that had been left lying on the coffee table.

"Soon," Dean replied absently, as his fingers shakily turned the pages of the magazine, as he tried to focus on the hot models glaring up at him from the pages. "What time is it?"

"I don't know. Late?" Sam supplied, hoping that would get his distracted older brother's attention.

Sighing, Dean momentarily abandoned his reading material to glance up at the clock. "It's almost four, Sam. He should be back really soon."

"Really _really _soon?" Sam pressed, knowing that would push Dean's buttons and hopefully get the attention that he was sorely craving.

"Yes! Quit bugging me, dude. _Not_ a good time."

"You're a grouch," Sam huffed. "It's not my fault that-" he tapered off, knowing that what he was about to say, would have the potential of completely undoing his big brother, and he wanted to avoid that at all costs.

"It's not your fault _what_?" Dean said softly, as he slowly turned his hazel eyes on his frozen little brother. He almost felt sorry for him. Ever since Caleb had been arrested, those around him had been paying the price with his attitude, even though he couldn't help it, even though he was completely heartbroken and devastated.

"Nothing."

"Sam, what?"

"It's not my fault that Caleb is in jail, and ever since that cop told us that they took him, you've been really mean to me, and to Bobby. It's not our fault!"

Dean nodded, sucking in a deep breath to halt the incoming flow of tears, when they pinched and pricked the corners of his eyes. "I know that, Sam, but try to cut me a little slack, okay? This is," he paused momentarily, as a torrent of the waterworks rained down his cheeks. "This is _really _hard."

"I know-"

"No, you don't. I mean, you _do_, but you don't have this weight on your chest like I do. It's my fault that he's in there, and nothing anyone can say will change that."

Even though Bobby had hammered it into his head that it hadn't been _his_ fault for Caleb's arrest, there was just too much evidence backing up his depressing claim. Caleb had never wanted to run, had never wanted to resort to that, and only when Dean had _really_ pushed him, had he decided to do it.

Now he was in jail.

Denied bail.

And once again, separated from he and Sam. It was the worst time to be separated, with Yellow-Eyes still out there, and their safety uncertain. It figured that something completely catastrophic would happen _then_, when everything was so unclear and confusing.

"Dean, it's not your fault that Caleb is in jail!" Sam said, his eyes widening in complete astonishment at the way his brother was thinking. "Is that what you _think_?"

"It's not what I think, Sam," Dean said, as he pushed himself up from the couch, turned and started walking down the hall toward where the bedrooms were located. "It's what I _know_."

"But—but _how—_and would you _stop _walking for five seconds?" Sam demanded, as they finally reached Dean's bedroom. "Please?"

"There's nothing to say, Sam. _I _pushed him to run," he said, pointing to himself. "We did, and now he's in lockup for _kidnapping_. Do you understand that, Sam? He could go to _prison _for the _rest_ of his life, and it'd be on _me_."

"Kidnapping?" Sam whispered, clearly not having been privy to that information before then. "Prison?"

"Yeah, Sam," Dean said, as he leaned against the wall, and slowly sank down to the floor. "When he decided to run—after I _begged_ him to do it—that was considered kidnapping because he was ordered to turn us over to CPS. Now, if he gets convicted of that charge alone, it would probably be a life sentence. Do you get _now _why I've been acting the way I've been?"

"Yes," Sam whispered, after a moment, as he anchored his body down to sit beside his brother. "I don't get it, though. Why was it considered kidnapping when we went with him on our own?"

The kid was smarter than Dean gave him credit for—attempting a smile on his face—he ruffled his hair jokingly, while he considered an appropriate way to word his answer to him. "It's not that simple, Sam," he said, his voice tight. "Caleb doesn't have custody of us anymore, and when he ran the police considered it to be kidnapping."

It was ridiculous even to _him—_he couldn't even imagine what was running through his brother's mind, even if he _was _so incredibly intelligent for his age. The idea that their guardian, someone who they both adored and loved, was locked up for the most horrible of reasons, and for something that he had _had _to do.

"But can't Caleb just tell them that the person that kidnapped me is still out there?" Sam asked quietly.

"He could, but then they would ask why we didn't report it to the cops. You don't understand the cops and the way they _think_, Sam. To them, Caleb's the enemy, someone who was trying to defy them and go against what they wanted."

"But he's not like that-" Sam started to say, struggling to understand why these people would believe a lie, why they would think the absolute _worst _of Caleb, when none of it was true.

"Yeah," Dean said, shaking his head in disbelief. "_We _know that. _Bobby _knows that. But they don't, and they don't care to, either."

It was the truth—the DA never stopped to consider that there could be another reason for what Caleb allegedly did or did _not _do. They had been on a cruel witch hunt for a year, trying to pin anything on him that they could, and now they had, and now the charges had the possibility of sticking this time.

"Can we see him?"

"I don't know—Bobby's checking with him today."

He doubted that Sam would be allowed to go—and he wouldn't _want _him to go, either. It was horrifying enough to imagine walking into that horrible place, and having no choice but to leave him there. He couldn't imagine his little brother, who had still miraculously retained some of his earlier innocence, walking into the same jail and seeing Caleb like that.

"About us going to see him?"

"Yes."

* * *

By the time Bobby finally rolled into the driveway, it was almost dark out. Dean didn't care about that—he cared about what his visit with Caleb had produced, and how he was more importantly, and what he thought of him going to see him.

Even though he wanted to more than anything, he had his doubts on if Caleb would feel the same way he did. As he anxiously twisted his hands around each other, waiting for the older hunter to walk through the door, he was also scared.

It killed him to think of Caleb in a place like that, and he wasn't sure he was emotionally stable enough to hear the details of Caleb being incarcerated. It had been the most horrific shock of his life when the cop had told him that they had arrested him, and now he couldn't imagine being informed of the torment that he was going through because of the unfairness of another.

"Hi," Bobby said, as he walked into the kitchen where the boys had both firmly planted themselves. Sam, because he was mostly glad that Bobby was finally back, and Dean, because he was trying to get up the courage to ask him about Caleb. "How was everything?"

"Good," Dean said with a forced shrug. "Didn't cause _too _much damage."

"He almost burned the house down!" Sam said, with an hysterical laugh.

"I did _not_!"

"Yes, you did!"

"What happened?" Bobby asked, trying to follow the rapid-fire accusations that Sam and Dean were hurling at each other.

"He said that I almost burned the place down," Dean said with a roll of his eyes.

"Did you?" Bobby prompted with a raise of an eyebrow.

"No! _Okay_," Dean conceded. "I _almost _did. But it was only because I was trying to make grilled cheese for _someone_," he said, looking back at Sam, "who wouldn't stop hounding me."

"I was not!"

"And then it started smoking," Dean said, laughing once. "It never _actually_ caught on fire."

"Well," Bobby said with a chuckle. "I'm glad crisis was averted for the most part. I got the stuff that you boys wanted."

"Thanks," Dean said, as he accepted the bag that Bobby held out for him. It wasn't things that he was desperate to have, clothes and some stuff from the bathroom that he needed, but it was still nice to get some more comforts from home.

"Is that everything?"

"Yeah."

"So," Sam said, once he had finished looking through the things that Bobby had brought for _him_. "Did you go see Caleb?"

Sam had voiced the question that Dean had been most anxious to ask, and in a way he was grateful that Sam had been the one to do it instead of it being him. It was horrific to _think _about, let alone verbalizing it aloud.

"I did," Bobby said, nodding.

"How—how," Dean said, shaking his head in frustration as he tried to get those impossible words out. "How is _he_? Is he okay?"

"Physically—yes," Bobby said. "He's doing alright. He wanted me to tell you _both _that and that he loves and misses you both."

Sam smiled, though Dean could tell that the reality of what he had confided in his brother, had started to sink in. For so long they had kept the truth about how serious Caleb's situation was from Sam, to protect him from the ugly truth about it. Now he knew everything that had been shielded from him for so long.

"What about emotionally?" Dean asked, as Sam snuggled closer to him, obviously seeking out comfort from his big brother in a situation that was so scary for him.

"He's doing alright," Bobby said softly. "Some days are harder than others for him, just like you."

Dean nodded, biting down on his thumb. "Okay," he said, fighting to keep a lid on his emotions not just for his sake, but for his brother's. "Good—I'm glad that he's okay." That counted for a lot where he was concerned.

"Can we see him?" Sam asked, speaking up and asking the dreaded question that Dean both wanted and _didn't _want to hear. In many ways, he wanted to be allowed to visit Caleb, but he wasn't sure if he could handle the emotional ramifications of such a visit.

"Right now, Sammy," Bobby said, as he pulled Sam into his lap, threading his fingers through his dark hair. "We don't think that it's a good idea for you to see him like he is right now."

"Why not?" Sam demanded, as a single tear slid down his rosy cheeks. "I _miss _him."

"I know you do," Bobby said. "And he misses you—he wanted me to tell you that, and that he loves you. But right now, you might see things that would upset you."

It was much different to see jails on TV—and not having to associate them with a real life situation. The reality would be much harder for Sam to grasp—restraints on the prisoners, and the most ridiculous of rules that you had to abide by to see your friend or family. It was something that Sam, at nine, wouldn't be able to fully understand.

"Like what?" Sam pressed, clearly not ready to drop the issue.

"You don't want to know," Dean said, as a single tear rained down his cheek, despite his best efforts to hold them in. It felt like he had been crying for days, ever since Caleb's latest arrest, and he hated that feeling it gave him. "_Believe _me."

He knew what went on behind those prison walls—despite Caleb and Bobby's best efforts to keep that part hidden from him—and there was no way he wanted that exposed to his little brother.

"But I don't understand-"

"Seeing Caleb in the jail," Bobby began carefully, catching the hesitant look Dean gave him. "It wouldn't be the same as seeing him like you're used to. In the jail, you can't hug them or have any physical contact with them. It's not allowed."

"Yeah," Dean said, shaking his head in disgust. "Because it's not like they don't need a damn hug sometimes, or we don't need a damn hug once in awhile."

Out of all the ludicrous rules that the jails imposed, that was the one that bothered him the most. If he went to see Caleb, he would have to reconcile himself to the fact that he wouldn't be allowed any physical contact with Caleb, and for him, who was always used to hugging him, and play hitting him, that would be hard.

"I can give you a hug," Sam said, who until then, had been quietly absorbing all the information that Bobby had given him.

"Thanks, Sam," Dean said, as he allowed his brother to give him a gigantic bear hug, before hesitantly reciprocating it. "I appreciate it."

"Anytime," Sam said, like it was no big deal. "I _do _charge, though."

Bobby laughed, shaking his head in amusement, as he tickled Sam's sides. "You're getting some of your brother's sense of humor."

"Some of my _awesome _sense of humor, you mean?" Dean said, as he playfully pushed his brother off him. "Get off me, brat."

"Fine," Sam said, in mock indignation.

"So what did Caleb say about _me_ going to see him?" Dean asked, although he fully expected to hear the worst possible news of no, and he was trying to mentally prepare himself for that fact in the few seconds it took for Bobby to respond to him.

"He gave you a choice," Bobby began. "You _can _go see him, but he wanted you to remember how good it felt to see him when he got home last time, and how there weren't any restrictions on how much you two could hug each other, and whatnot."

"So I _can _go see him-"

"Yes, but he wants you to carefully consider everything that I just told you."

Dean had no idea what he would do with the choice that he had been given by Caleb. It was impossible to make. Either stay at the safe house and endure another hellish three months without him, or go to see him and have to suffer through the potentially devastating consequences of that visit.

"Okay."

* * *

Laying on his back on his bed in his darkened room, Dean absently scrubbed a hand over his eyes, as he tried to consider what he would do with the choice that Caleb had communicated through Bobby. It was a relief to know that Caleb was trusting him enough to make such a huge choice, but it also put another burden on his shoulders. In a way before, it had been nice to have the situation taken out of his hands when it had concerned seeing Caleb, but now that he was suddenly faced with the choice, it was mind—boggling.

His first inclination was to, of course, go with Bobby to see Caleb, but there were other factors to consider first. First and foremost, he knew that they couldn't take Sam to the jail to see him. It would be too confusing, and too upsetting for him to have such a devastating view of the guardian he adored.

And second, there was no way that he would even _entertain _the idea of leaving Sam alone _just _so he could ease the mind-numbing pain that _he_ was going through at being separated from Caleb. If Sam hadn't been a thought, he would have most likely gone ahead and done the visit, but he couldn't with their current set of circumstances.

"Hey, kid," Bobby said, as he stopped by Dean's room. "It's getting late."

"I know—thanks."

"What's on your mind?" Bobby asked, as he stood in front of the prone thirteen-year-old.

"Can I ask you something?" Dean asked, as he propped himself up on his elbow.

"I guess—can't guarantee I'll be much help, but you can go ahead and take a shot."

"I'll keep that in mind, old man," Dean said with a smirk. "Anyway, if you had to make a choice, and you weren't sure what to do, what would you do?"

"I need that question edited," Bobby said, "so it's not as vague."

"Fine," Dean said with a sigh. "If you were given the kind of choice that...Caleb is giving me, what would you do? A large part of me wants to see him, but then another part of me is nervous about it."

"Well, I would have all the facts before I made a choice like that."

"Yeah," Dean said, batting away more tears, as he closed his eyes, focusing on the deep breathing techniques that Caleb had taught him to control any negative emotions he felt coming on. "What kind of restraints is he in?"

That was the part that was the hardest for Dean—imagining seeing Caleb in any kind of restraints. It was something he _knew _he would have to face if he went ahead with the visit.

"He has handcuffs on."

"In the front?"

"Yes."

"Nothing else?"

"He has a waist chain on that sort of connects the cuffs, but that's it."

Dean nodded. "Okay."

"What are you thinking now?"

"I want to see him, but we can't take Sam, and there's no way I'm leaving him here alone."

They had had too many close calls with YED already—and he couldn't, in good faith, leave him there to deal with any demons that might just be able to make it over the salt lines, and the iron parts that surrounded the house. It _was _a safe place, but not safe enough that he would leave Sam there alone.

"So...?"

"I can't," Dean said, as tears fell down his cheeks, as he closed his eyes. "I want to see him so badly, but I can't leave Sam here alone, and I don't think I can handle seeing Caleb like that."

"I'm so sorry, Dean," Bobby said, as he pulled him into a rare hug.

"It's not your fault. It's not Sam's fault."

"It's not yours, either."

* * *

_Just a little note: This is kind of in response to a review I got that I wanted to make clear for everyone, actually. I know that the guys, especially Caleb, pay a lot of attention to Dean in regards to affection/training that sort of thing. But they have never overlooked Sam in any of those regards. They only started training him later because they wanted him to have that normal life Dean couldn't have, and in regards to affection:_

_I don't think either Jim (when he was still alive) or Bobby or Caleb have ever really deprived Sam of the same emotional support Dean has gotten. It's only because most of this series focuses on Dean more, that you don't see as much of it with Sam, but they absolutely adore him, and both those guys have either showed it or said it in some way or another._


	17. Chapter 17

The jail Caleb was at, had different levels of security. One section of the jail was used to house the low security inmates, the one who were actually allowed out of their cells the most—four or five hours of the day—and even be allowed _out _to work certain jobs. Those were the people that Caleb secretly envied, being able to travel anywhere inside the jail, and be allowed out even.

And then there was the medium security section—the part that only allowed their inmates out for two hours for recreation—which could consist of basketball, going into a room inside their unit to watch TV, or to play cards, something Caleb had never been good at.

Then there was the maximum security unit—the section that housed the inmates that were under the strictest control—the ones that either had the most serious charges against them, or the _most _charges against them.

Caleb, unfortunately, qualified for both of those, and was placed in the maximum security unit. In that unit, time out of the cell was rare. It was only when the inmates either had court appearances, or visiting hours that they were allowed out for those precious few moments or hours of bliss, and then it was all over.

Recreation time was limited—only for an hour were in the inmates allowed out—and then it was back to their cells for the day and night. Meals were served in the cells, as per their policy regarding those issues, and when he was transported _anywhere_, it was under heavy duty watch, and humiliating restraints.

It was something he should have been used to from his earlier rodeo with the legal justice system, but it was a feeling he would never _quite _get used to when he was cuffed and shackled, and forced to walk in precariously embarrassing circumstances, and besides all that, he had to deal with the feeling of being vulnerable to any demons or shifters that might think it would be fun to sneak in and impersonate one of the unsympathetic guards.

His new reality was very hard to become accustomed to—it was difficult being separated from the boys—especially Sam when so much had already been piled on his little shoulders from revelations he had learned about his family, and especially with his recent kidnapping, torture and successful retrieval.

The days seemed to mesh together—never ending—as he tried anyway he knew how to pass the time. From the commissary account that had been set up for him, he was able to obtain a few goodies like snacks, and even some good reading material from the library in the jail, but it was small compared to the forced confinement that he had no choice but to endure.

Nights weren't much better—the main lights went out in the cell, but some still remained for the guards to navigate in. It didn't matter though, Caleb was sure that even if the cell block had been completely dark, he wouldn't have been able to sleep. His nerves were always too jumpy, and his thoughts were always racing with the thought of what could happen to him if the _wrong _jury found him guilty.

Then it was a life sentence

And being removed from the boy's life for good.

Those thoughts, though, weren't entirely conducive to surviving through this experience in one piece, as he tried to distract his mind with anything _but _his legal case. The upside was when he had visitors to hold him over. Dawn came on a fairly regular basis to discuss new developments in his case, and to update him on the appeals process that she had just started. It was nice to see her, but the visits he looked foreword to the _most _came from Bobby.

It was different with Bobby. When it was just him and his grizzled hunter friend, they could talk freely without the awkwardness of knowing there were certain things he was keeping secret, and more importantly, he could be updated on the boys and how they were doing.

Last he knew from Bobby, he was planning on taking them to Nebraska to see Ellen and Bill. It would be good for the boys to get out of Sioux Falls, and see their dear friends that they didn't get to see that much due to distance and time constraints.

"Hey," he said, the morning that Dawn came to see him. It had been a few days since he had last seen her, and he was eager to know whether she had managed to score another victory for him like she was sometimes known to do. "What's up?"

"Not much," she replied. "I _did _hear from the judge."

"The old one or the new one?"

A new judge would be hearing the appeal if it went through—that was a relief to him—the last thing he wanted was to face the same judge who had so callously denied him bond. It would, in some ways, be a relief to start fresh with a new judge, if he ever got lucky enough to have his day in court to fight being denied bail.

"The new one."

That could mean any number of things, and he could feel his heart race with the knowledge that his appeal would either be denied or approved.

"Good or bad?"

He tried to prepare himself for any possibility—especially an unthinkably bad one—it was the only way he would survive a bitter disappointment and more heartache.

"Depends—he needs more evidence of what we're trying to say—and some sort of promise that you can be relied on to make any future court appearances."

That was good—it wasn't _great—_but it was at least better than an outright no like he had been afraid of when she had first walked in.

"So it's not a yes...but it's not a no?"

"Correct."

"So when should we know for sure? And what other evidence does he need?"

"We should know within the next few days to a week—the evidence that he needs is basically proof that you have a job," she said, counting on her fingers for him to see. "You have to turn over your passport, for another."

"Fine."

Not that ever used or even _needed _his passport anymore.

"And as for probable release conditions—we discussed having security follow you around—but he didn't think that would be entirely necessary. Instead, we talked about the ankle monitoring bracelet."

Caleb nodded. "This is all hinging on _if _I even get released or not?"

"Yes."

"What about the boys? Will I be able to see them or is that pretty much out of the question until the trial is over?" It would mean the world to him if he would be allowed to resume his relationship with Sam and Dean, but he doubted a judge who had just arraigned him on kidnapping charges, would feel the same.

"One of the stipulations," she said with a grimace, "is that you _not _be allowed to see them until all the evidence has been heard in court at the prelim, and when the case has reached its conclusion."

"So no?"

"Yes."

Caleb nodded. "Alright. As it stands right now, how possible would it be for me to regain sole custody of them?"

"As it stands right _now_," she said, "impossible. _But _if you are obviously acquitted of the abuse and kidnapping charges, I'll make a case for you to get custody, and if you've been found not guilty of those charges, it shouldn't be too difficult for a judge to sign it back over to you."

"Good."

That was still a long ways off from then—if he was found not guilty—which would be a long shot—he would have to go through the CPS channels in family court to get custody reinstated for him. It was ridiculous, even to him, that he was going through this again. He thought, foolishly, with the finishing of his murder trial, that that was the end of his relationship with the DA, but he had been wrong.

"Caleb," she said, "right now the prosecution is offering you a deal."

"What kind of _deal_?"

"If you plead no contest to two of the abuse charges, he'll drop the other two in exchange for a lighter sentence. Like, eight years instead of the thirty that you were originally up against."

He shook his head in astonishment. "Pleading no contest is the same as pleading guilty, Dawn. I'm not an idiot, and they shouldn't peg me for one, either. I'm _not _going to plead to something I didn't do!"

"Okay," she said. "I was just telling you that he was saying that. You obviously want me to reject it."

"Hell yes. I'm not going to admit to that, because it's _not _true, and that would be as good as saying goodbye to them forever. No way in hell."

"Okay."

"Is there anything else?" he asked, already emotionally exhausted just from this conversation _alone_. "Or is that pretty much what those dicks wanted you to tell me?"

"That's all _they _wanted," she said, "but we have to go over the evidence that will be presented at the prelim hearing."

"How bad is it for our side?"

Obviously there was sufficient evidence to even charge him with abuse in the first place, but he needed to know how strong it was, and they would go about beating the ridiculous charges, especially in regards to the kidnapping charge, which was almost as good as being caught red handed.

"With the abuse charges," Dawn began, "it's winnable."

"How so?"

"Well," she said. "There's no denying that Dean has those marks on him, but they can't prove that they came exclusively _from _you."

"Right."

"Especially with the way that Dean so vehemently denied the allegations to that lady. It _will _cast doubt on _any _jury that we find."

"What about the marks and how it relates to the neglect charge?"

Those abuse and neglect charges had been the starting point for all the hell he had been going through with the courts, and especially with CPS. It was their ludicrous allegations that had ended with him being stripped of his custody rights, and attempting to flee in order to _protect _them.

"They can't prove what they're saying. They think that Dean actually _broke _his _arm _because of you? They can't prove it. There's no witness statements to back it up, and no X-rays to verify it. Nothing."

Caleb nodded. "Exactly. But will it hold up in front of a jury?"

"Very possibly."

"Okay, and what about the kidnapping rap?"

That was the one he was seriously concerned about—the evidence was right there for any jury to see—he was caught out of state with the boys hours after he was ordered to turn them in. It wouldn't take a genius who didn't know the truth, to connect the dots together.

"That," she hesitated, "will be the most challenging to beat."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I really am."

"Don't be—I'm a parent—I understand. It will just be extremely difficult to prove your intentions if it wasn't kidnapping."

Caleb bowed his head, nodding. "Worst case scenario?"

"A possible life sentence. If it ends up that you get convicted, there are other mitigating factors to consider for the judge and the jury. If you meant to harm them, if you meant to _kill _them, maybe. There are many different factors to consider for the judge and the jury."

"Right."

* * *

Dean tried to be excited about going to the Harvelle's, but he couldn't. There was too much at stake—Caleb wouldn't be going with them again, and that was hard for him to take, even though it would prove to be a blessing that he would be able to get out of town for awhile, and go to Nebraska where it was always light and funny, and the people surrounding them, loved he and his brother.

"Dean, you about ready?" Bobby asked, as he found him by the front door with his and Sam's bags.

"Just about. I have to find my coat."

"Right here," Bobby said, as he threw it to him.

"Thanks," Dean said, as he caught it one-handed. "Where's Sam?"

"Right here," Sam said, as he skidded to a halt in front of his family. "Are we _ready_?" he asked, with a slight whine to his voice.

"Yes."


	18. Chapter 18

As their car traveled down the interstate, Dean tried to be excited about the idea of going to see the Harvelles. It had been awhile since he had seen the small family that lived in Nebraska. The last time he had _really_ seen them, had been five months previously at Jim's funeral in Minnesota.

Since then, their lives had taken one tumble after another. The most serious being Sam's kidnapping by the YED, and then recently, Caleb's arrest for a plethora of charges, including the most serious one of felony kidnapping. It was heartbreaking for Dean to not have Caleb go on this trip with them, when he had always gone, providing much needed comic relief when they started to get bored, and providing a helping hand to whoever happened to be driving.

But as their car switched lanes and he leaned his head against the cool window, he tried to forget all those negative feelings and focus on the positive. At least he was able to get out of their town for awhile, at least he would have no choice but to focus on the friends they were visiting, and not any of the crap that was rapidly assaulting his life.

It wouldn't be easy—not when he was brutally reminded of how serious the charges that Caleb was facing, and how it would be an almost automatic life sentence if he was convicted of the most serious charge of kidnapping them.

As he absently swiped his hand across his eyes, he inhaled a deep breath as he looked out at all the lanes of cars that swept past them. It seemed impossible they had been on the road for almost six hours, when it took them almost _seven_ to get there. He had been so lost in his own maze of thoughts that the time had seemed to go by without much disturbance.

"Dean, are you getting excited about this?" Bobby asked, as he glanced over at the barely—teenager as he leaned against the car door, silently watching all the scenery that swept past.

One of the deciding factors to make the trip to Nebraska was so that Dean could get out of Sioux Falls and all the daily reminders of Caleb not being there. The kid desperately needed a break—they _both_ did—and this would prove to be the perfect remedy—or so he _hoped_.

Not that Dean hadn't tried to raise a thousand reasons as to why they couldn't go, but in the end, Bobby's persuasive arguments and Sam's puppy dog eyes, had won him over and he had (grudgingly) agreed to go on the journey with them.

"A little."

It _would_ be nice to see Ellen, and her kind but determined spitfire attude, who was a master in the kitchen, and was able to somehow whip up the most delicious food when they showed up at their doorstep, and Bill, with his hilarious sense of humor, and distinctive cowboy hat that he always wore around the house, as he exuberantly told daring and heroic hunting tales to the enamored kids.

It _would _be a much needed reprieve from the near constant heartache that he had been suffering through since Caleb's arrest and imprisonment, even if he wasn't consciously aware of that fact, as he tried to find any glimmer of excitement in the trip.

"It will be good for you," Bobby said. "It's been hard for you two the last few weeks," he added, as he turned to look at Sam in the backseat.

"Yeah," Dean said, not bothering to deny the truthfulness of that statement as he adjusted his position when his body started getting stiff. "How much longer?"

"Only another hour."

"Half hour if you speed it up a little bit," Dean pointed out, exchanging amused looks with Sam who was sitting in the backseat, silently following his and Bobby's conversation.

"Yeah," Sam said. "Caleb always says he goes _ten _over and gets us there in _half_ the time."

"Hold your horses, idjits," Bobby grumbled, clearly not thrilled that the boys were questioning the driving skills that he had perfected over the many years he had been on the road. "Unless one of you wants to take the wheel?"

"Sure," Dean said with a shrug, easily falling for the bait. "Pull over."

"Nice try," Bobby said, rolling his eyes. "Sam, are you getting excited?"

"Yes!" Sam said, as he excitedly kicked his legs against the seat. "I want to see Ellen and Bill! And I want to jump on Jo's trampoline."

"My stomach wants to see Ellen's cooking," Dean said, shaking his head in amusement, as he rubbed his stomach.

"Don't we all?" Bobby said.

"True."

This was nice—Dean had missed this—the joking and teasing that he loved doing with Bobby. It was something that had been in short supply since their nightmare had begun. At least now he was getting the chance to relax that he so desperately needed.

As Bobby made a sharp turn off the freeway for the first time in hours, Dean found himself getting anxious for the first time, as his heart rate increased in direct response to the knowledge that they would be there soon.

Ellen, besides being an excellent cook, was _nice_. She was someone who had been there for them during different crises, and had always been able to offer a kind word, a hug, (when Dean allowed it), and some food that warmed his stomach.

Bill offered distraction in the way of humor, or a new case. It was something that both the kids needed, and were secretly glad they were getting, as the searing hot sun started to dip lower below the horizon, signaling how much time had passed since the start of their journey, and the conclusion of it.

"Are we _there _yet?" Sam whined from the backseat, clearly growing tired of the trip.

"Yes."

And they were—the Harvelles lived on a large stretch of land that bordered a forest that they used for hunting, and private family walks that afforded the kids a rare and up close look at the nature that they both loved. Sam, especially, being the animal freak that he was, loved the idea of walking on the path and observing all the squirrels and rabbits that he could find. As their car slowed to a stop, Dean could feel the nervous energy he had been silently dealing with the whole drive, explode into sheer relief at the fact that they were there. Finally. And would be able to finally enjoy themselves.

Bill and Ellen, and Jo were waiting on the porch for them, and came down the steps to greet them as the small family eagerly clambered out of the car.

"It's about time!" Bill said, as he clapped Bobby on the shoulder, and gave each boys a brief hug. "What took you so long?"

"The idea of seeing your ugly face," Bobby grumbled, as he swung his car keys around his finger. "Traffic was bad," he added seriously. "Got better on the last stretch."

"That will do it," Bill said, shaking his head. "Least you're here now—and just in time, too. Just started firing up the grill. Jo's been helping me, haven't you?"

"Yes, daddy," she said, smiling shyly at the boys. It had been awhile since she had last seen them. She hadn't been in Minnesota for Jim's funeral, and so she had missed the chance to catch up with them.

"How are you doing?" Ellen said, as she gave Sam a hug, before approaching Dean. Usually he didn't like being hugged, but this time he tolerated it, as he gave her a warm hug.

"Good," Dean said with a shrug. "You?"

"Can't complain. Except that I've had to wrangle Bill into dragging out his old grill," she whispered secretively to Dean.

"So Bill let you off kitchen duty, huh?" Bobby said, as they started walking back up the steps toward the large home.

"After I pestered him," she said with an exaggerated role of her eyes..

"I gotcha."

Inside, they turned off the foyer and directly into the kitchen, where the backyard patio was stationed. The weather was still warm enough that the Harvelles and their guests were able to gather out on the deck with little to no difficulty, as they watched Bill flip the hamburgers he had started making.

"Where's Caleb?" Bill asked, turning to look over at Bobby and the boys. "Working?"

"No," Dean said, as he bowed his head, trying to fight off the reminder that Caleb's arrest had brought up with Bill's words.

"What's going on?" Ellen asked, as he looked back and forth between Bobby and Dean. "Something wrong?"

"It's a long story," Bobby said, laying a reassuring hand on Dean's shoulder.

"Well, we're game," Bill said.

"He's in jail," Dean said, shaking his head in disbelief as he bit down on his bottom lip. "CPS launched some ridiculous investigation, and when they ruled that he had to turn over custody of us to them, he decided to try to run with us, and we were caught."

"And so now he's in jail?" Ellen said, trading horrified looks with her husband.

"Yeah."

"On what charges?" Bill asked.

"Abuse, neglect, and kidnapping. At his arraignment, he was denied bail."

It still hurt to know that the only chance Caleb would have of getting out before his trial, would be a miraculous appeal hearing that would either uphold the original decision to deny bail, or to overturn it and let him out."

"I'm so sorry," Ellen said, knowing better than anyone that it was the _last _thing that family needed. "Is there any way he can get out?"

"There's supposed to be a hearing," Bobby said. "If his attorney can get it worked out, he might be able to be released before his trial happens."

"Well, let's hope," Bill said. "In the meantime, I have some cases that might need some cracking, and our burgers are almost done."

"Awesome," Dean said, trying to put the knowledge of their current situation out of his mind, as he gorged himself on the delicious and juicy burgers that Bill held out for him. It was nice, eating outside, guarding their food from the flies, and laughing with their oldest and dearest friends.

It was something that would have been made even more precious had Caleb been there to enjoy it with them, but Dean tried not to dwell on that depressing fact as he listened intently to the stories that Bill was telling, and try to lose himself in that for once.

* * *

"What happened?"

Caleb was in a state of shock, as he stared down at his cuffed hands, trying to ignore the degrading restraints as best he could, as he looked up at his apologetic attorney, as they sat across from each other in the small room she had long ago arranged for them to meet in at the jail.

"Nothing—the new judge heard _all _the same evidence—and some _new _evidence—and he thought that there had been a just reason for why the earlier judge denied you bail. I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. "I _really _am. I tried."

"I—I know," he said, as he paused in his speech to wipe a stray tear that was rapidly traveling down his cheek. "I know you did. I appreciate it—I appreciate _everything _you've done for me."

It wasn't _her _fault that the new judge, who had agreed to the hearing to hear evidence of how the previous judge had erred in denying Caleb bail, had ended up upholding the original ruling. It was devastating for Caleb, whose entire hopes of being released _before _his trial, had just been dashed in a matter of only minutes.

"Still," she said gently. "I'm sorry you had to go through being transported, and then just to hear that nothing had changed." Dawn knew how incredibly difficult it was for Caleb to go through the humiliating process of being cuffed and have all those additional restraints put on him, and she didn't blame him one bit, either.

"I should be getting used to that," he said, with a small and ironic laugh. "But I just can't get past the idea that people _actually _think I'm this horrible person."

He knew that those kinds of thoughts weren't entirely conducive to keeping himself sane as much as humanly possible. It was hard, though. The ugliness of his new situation was everywhere he looked, and was never more clearer than when the guards would take him out of his cell and transport him to the courthouse.

"Well, I can't control _their _thoughts. I only know what _I _know."

"Thank you."

At least he had _her _on his side—at least he had Bobby and the boys behind him. Their support and complete faith in him meant the _world _to him, even if he had no choice but to be cut off from two of those people, the people that happened to mean the _most _to him.

"So unfortunately," she said with a grimace. "It won't be possible for you to get out until _after _the preliminary hearing is over. There, the judge will decide if the prosecution has a solid case to go ahead and send it—and you—to trial."

Caleb nodded; this was something that he had already gone through once before in his life, and the last time the prosecutor in the case had proved enough probable cause to convince the judge to hold him over for trial. "How soon is the prelim hearing?"

"I sent in the necessary paperwork to make sure that _this _hearing, and any future ones are fast tracked, but the soonest the court has an available opening to set it up, is about six weeks away."

Caleb nodded; of course he should have expected a delay like that. It was the way his luck ran lately, and there was nothing he could do to change it, either. Sighing deeply, he tried to control the utter panic that was cruising through his body, but it was difficult.

"So what's going to be different about the prelim?"

He knew that the prelim was the last chance Dawn had to lay out all her cards, and go through every strip of evidence against him, and spin it into something positive, something that _didn't _make him out to be the monster that the prosecution _thought _he was.

"We'll have more of an opportunity to present _our _case. It will be difficult to make the evidence of the kidnapping charge go away, but it won't be impossible."

"Right," he said. "I really screwed myself, right?"

It wasn't like there was any doubt that he had tried to take the boys away from the custody of CPS—he had been caught red handed by them, and the only question in his mind would be if Dawn would be able to spin enough doubt in the minds of the jury to create a plausible reason as to _why_ he had done it.

"Not entirely—at this point, there's no denying that you tried to run with them. The question that I'll be presenting to the jury will be _why_."

"You know," Caleb said, "the person that kidnapped Sam a month or two ago, is still out there. You tell them that the cops weren't any closer to finding whoever did it, and I panicked at the idea of leaving them unprotected."

Which _was _the truth—just a condensed, slightly edited version of it.

"I will," she nodded. "Then with the abuse charges-"

"You can't prove it was me that did it."

"Exactly."

"Is the case winnable?"

"I have to be honest," she said, leaning foreword. "In the jury's minds, no matter how fair we get them, their more sensitive to cases involving kids, especially involving alleged kidnappings."

"Right, but it's the _motive _behind it, right?"

"Correct."

"Do you think the case will go to trial?"

"It's hard to say—but probably."


	19. Chapter 19

Night was the hardest time for Dean. With the approaching darkness, it just gave him time to _think_, and that was something he wanted to avoid at all costs. It didn't help to dwell on his current situation—it wouldn't get Caleb out of jail, and it wouldn't help speed up the process, either. For whatever reason, the DA wouldn't let go of him, and now they had him hooked on another charge that had the serious possibility of sticking.

It made him sick to his stomach when he thought like that. A life sentence for a kidnapping that he had never even committed. It was horrifying to know that barely five months ago, he and Sam had suffered through the impossible loss of Jim, and now they were going through a different kind of loss with Caleb.

While he was _physically _still alive and well, they were cut off him from seeing him, cut off from being a regular, everyday part of each other's lives. It wasn't fair that the hits they tried so hard to avoid, kept coming for them. If it wasn't one thing, it was always another and they were powerless to avoid it.

Distractions helped.

Being far away from the source of the drama was helpful to Dean. Even though he had initially resisted going on the trip, it had been nice to see Ellen and Bill and become reacquainted with them and the nice, relaxed atmosphere they had in Nebraska.

But now he was alone in his thoughts again—they had gone to bed early after they had eaten dinner, and even though Dean was grateful for the privacy it offered him, it didn't help combat the awful thoughts that routinely assaulted his mind.

Thoughts of Caleb never coming home.

Of his appeal not going through.

And the worst one of all. Caleb being convicted of the charges against him, and sentenced to do hard time behind bars for something that he hadn't even done. It was laughable to Dean on the best of days, the days where his loss hadn't hit him as hard, and on the worst of days, it was heartbreaking to him.

Caleb didn't deserve it—he had done nothing but try to protect Dean and his brother, and now he was paying for it with his freedom and with his life. For eight years he had been a constant fixture in their lives, and now all of a sudden, they were supposed to be _okay _with the idea of it not being like that anymore?

It was impossible.

"Dean?"

Swallowing back the intense lump in the back of his throat, he rolled over on his side as he faced the bedroom door. It was Sam, who clearly couldn't sleep either, as he crept into the room his older brother was staying in. They were positioned right next to each other, with a bathroom being the only barrier between them.

"Yeah, Sam?" he croaked, his voice rough and dry from not having used it in awhile.

"I couldn't sleep."

"Join the club," he said dryly, as he felt his mattress sag underneath him with Sam's added weight. "Why couldn't you?"

"I don't know—why couldn't _you_?"

"Too much on my mind," Dean answered honestly, as he flipped over onto his back. "You?"

"Same."

"It was fun seeing Ellen and Bill tonight, and eating the hamburgers."

"Yeah," Dean said, with a small smile. "It _was_. Especially when Bill tried to catch the fry in his _mouth_."

Sam laughed. "I know! And then Jo tried to do the same thing."

"Yeah," Dean said, shaking his head. "He _definitely_ knows how to make us laugh."

"Yeah."

As Dean fell silent, he gazed up at the ceiling, which had been decorated with glow in the dark stars when they had been younger and had been visiting. Over the years, Ellen had kept the decorations up, and it was actually something that Dean looked foreword to seeing the _most._

"What are you thinking about?" Dean whispered.

"I wish Caleb was here."

"Me too," Dean said, nodding, as he batted a few tears away, grateful that Sam couldn't see them in the total darkness they had been bathed in. "Next time, next trip."

His mind _refused _to accept the possibility that the next time they visited, the circumstances might still be the same. It was too horrible to imagine that Caleb would be spending the rest of his life in that hellhole.

"Yeah," Sam said. "Next time."

"Bill's going to clue us in on some jobs we could help him with."

"When? Tomorrow?"

"Yeah."

Sometimes when they went to Nebraska, he and whoever happened to be with him, would help Bill out on some of the trickier cases he had, in order to take the load off his already crowded shoulders. It was never anything serious, mostly hauntings and other spirit type cases.

"That should be fun. Can I go if you guys do?"

"Depends—if it's something minor, then sure."

Sam hadn't officially been in the life too long—taking him on many of the cases that Dean was already long used to going on, would be too dangerous until he had had more in-depth training with Caleb, and Dean was relieved. It was something he just wasn't ready to see his brother do quite yet.

"And if it's _not?_"

"Then you'll probably have to stay here with Ellen and Jo while we figure it out."

"Okay."

He knew Sam wouldn't entirely mind being left behind with Ellen. Whenever that happened, she allowed Sam and Jo to go outside and get in their above ground pool, or go jumping on the trampoline.

"Night, Sammy."

"Goodnight, De."

* * *

"So what's the case?" Dean asked, the next morning over breakfast.

"Poltergeist—something _relatively _easy," Bill said, as he glanced down at the list of research available to him. "Couple describes pretty massive damage to their home. Bed shakes, furniture being thrown around, and some injuries even to the guy_._"

Definitely _not _a case Sam could go on—or that he and Bobby would feel comfortable taking him on. It was entirely different when they were dealing with a violent spirit like a poltergeist, who had the ability to maim someone with a simple flick of a knife.

"What happened?" Bobby asked, as he accepted the papers that Bill offered him.

"The husband—poor guy—he got a knife in the arm, but the injuries weren't serious."

"And then what else?" Dean asked, trading glances with Bobby.

"Then there's been some reports of the bookcases being overturned, and other problems like that. So far, the couple has tolerated it, but last night they moved into a hotel until it's resolved."

"Do they know what you do-"

"No. All they know is that I'm someone who can get rid of whatever is doing it to their house."

"Okay."

It was rare that Dean got the chance to handle an actual poltergeist, and he was excited in spite of himself. Those were the kinds of spirits that were dangerous to handle, the type of ones that he had gotten his bruising from.

"Can I go?" Sam asked, eagerly following their conversation.

"Not this time, bud," Bill answered. "I don't think you've quite had the experience to deal with something like this."

It was obvious Sam was disappointed from the way that his lips morphed themselves into an adorable pout—but he didn't argue the way he normally would have had it just been he, Dean and Bobby. Instead, he became quieter as he quietly processed his disappointment at not being able to go on the case with them.

"It's okay, Sam," Jo said, turning to face him, as bits of her pancake dangled precariously off her fork. "We can go swimming right, Momma?"

"That's right, honey," Ellen said, as she ran a brush through Jo's curly hair despite her feisty daughter's best attempts to fend her off. "We'll still have fun right here, Sam."

"Okay," Sam finally said, brightening up a little. "Thanks."

"Of course."

Grateful that the situation had been successfully defused, Dean turned his attention to the hunt in front of him. It had been a good morning so far, something that he had been immensely grateful for, as he poured his energy into what he was doing.

It wasn't too often he had a good morning—not since Caleb's arrest—and anything that diverted his attention from that, was something that he would gladly take.

"So where is this place?"

"It's just up the road, actually."

"Oh, that's lucky," Dean said, shrugging.

"I already talked to the people before you guys got here, so that's all taken care of. All _we _have to do is go in and take care of the thing before it can hurt anyone else."

"Sounds like a plan."

The house was close to where the Harvelle's were. Dean was grateful for that—even though he _knew _that Sam would be in capable hands with Ellen, it still made him feel better to know that he would be close by in case anything unforeseen were to happen.

Still, as he sat in the backseat, leaning foreword eagerly as they passed by different homes, and turned onto different streets, he couldn't help but feel excited. Anytime that he was given a hunt to help out on, was a good thing lately, and he had started to recognize that.

"Okay," Bobby said, as they got out of the car in front of the modest—two story house. "You follow our lead, understood?"

"Yes."

"If we tell you to blow the place, do it. If we tell you _not _to make a move, don't make it."

"I know."

Those weren't new rules—those were the ones that he had practically been _raised_ with, and he knew how important it was that he follow them _to _the letter.

"Okay," Bill said, as he passed over some mojo bags. "Make dents in the walls, and put them in every corner of the room."

"What's in this stuff?" Dean asked, as he stared at the bag that Bill had handed to him.

"A few little odds and ends to make a good bag of stuff to ward off evil," Bill said, as he made a beeline into the living room to make the first crack.

"Oh."

It was fairly quick work—the house had different corners to it that need purifying, and Dean was able to make most of the dents within only a few minutes as he rapidly progressed throughout the house.

It was only when he started to ascend to the second floor that something happened. A lamp shade cord that had previously been still, flung out suddenly, and without his knowledge, and wrapped itself around his legs, tripping him.

"Son of a-" Dean swore through gritted teeth, as he fought the inescapable hold that the cord had around him. "Bill! Bobby!"

It only took a matter of seconds for the guys to appear—one stayed by Dean's side, while the other used a pair of heavy—duty scissors to pry the thick bonds from Dean's ankles. Once they were gone, it took Dean several minutes before he was able to regain feeling to his legs, as he shakily stood with Bill's careful assistance.

"You doing okay?" Bobby asked, as he watched Dean stand uncertainly.

"Yeah, I'm good."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm fine."

It was partially the truth—he _was_ doing okay—there had been no physical damage done to his legs, and he was able to still move quickly throughout the entire upper floor of the home, but it was his nerves that were on edge after the near miss.

"Watch out up here," Bill warned. "This is where most of the attacks happened."

"Okay."

Glad to have that warning, Dean definitely took the hunt slower, as he made more cracks in the wall to place the bags. He was on the last room of the house, and he could feel the adrenaline rush through his veins, as he carefully placed the bags. Something wasn't right, he could feel it, as he turned slowly, trying to mark his movements the best he could, as he made his way toward the guys.

"You doing okay?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah-" Dean started to say, but was almost immediately cut off when a knife that had been lying on the nightstand, (obviously in an attempt by the owners to protect themselves against what was happening in their home), suddenly lunged itself at Dean.

It was too late to duck out of the way—the knife had firmly lodged itself in Dean's side. For several seconds, he didn't feel anything. The shock was too powerful at first, as he and Bobby stared at each other, both clearly stunned at what had happened, and wondering what to do next.

"Dean-" Bobby started to say, his voice constricted, as he took a step toward the injured thirteen-year-old.

"Bobby-" It was only when his shaky gaze met the sight of the knife, still stuck in his side, and the blood that had rapidly started to gather around it, that the shock started to leave only to be replaced with a searing, excruciating pain. "Bobby!"

"Hold on, boy," Bobby said, trying his hardest to stay calm for the panicked teen, as he gently steered him toward the bed that was, luckily, positioned directly behind him.

"Bobby, it—it hurts _bad_," Dean gasped.

"I know, Dean, I know," Bobby said, as he helped him lay back. "Don't move, okay? It could hurt you worse."

Dean nodded, sucking in a deep breath as he tried to breathe through the pain that was only getting worse by the second. "Bobby, I'm s-scared," he said, as his hands moved foolishly toward the knife, hoping to remove it from his side, not thinking about the potential ramifications of such a risky move.

"Dean, _don't_," Bobby warned. "You can't touch it."

Dean _knew_ he was right—he had been warned about the risks of removing a knife from a stab wound, but his actions were based purely on instinct, as his hand moved down toward his left side where the knife was protruding, but was met by Bobby's restraining hand on his arm.

"I know it hurts, Dean, but you can't move it."

"Why not?" he demanded through gritted teeth, as he tried to fight the agonizing pain he was in. Even though he knew it was wrong to remove it, it was only natural when he had something like that causing him unbearable pain.

"Because if you pull it out," Bobby explained softly, "you could release the pressure that's keeping the injury under control, and then you could bleed out."

Dean shook his head, clenching his teeth in agony as he tried to control the insane urge to pull the knife out. His breathing was coming out in short gasps, as he tried to keep himself calm, knowing that panicking would only increase the shock and put him in even more harms way as a result. As he clenched his hand into a fist, he could feel his fingernails digging into his palm, as he closed his eyes.

"Bill!" Bobby called. "We have a big problem in here!"

It only took a matter of a seconds before Bill charged into the room. It didn't take long for him to see what the problem was, as he dropped down to his knees besides Dean's side. "What the hell happened here?" he asked teasingly, but with all the concern in the world.

"The stupid—the stupid poltergeist," Dean said.

"It flung the knife," Bobby explained, "and he couldn't get out of the way in time."

Bill nodded, as he carefully examined the wound from what he could see of it. It was positioned right under his ribcage, and he knew that besides risking further enhancing whatever internal injuries he had, he would also risk causing more damage to whatever ribs had been broken as a result.

"I don't feel like I can move this knife," Bill said, as he lifted his head to meet Bobby and Dean's gazes. "It's too risky—I don't want to hurt you more," he added, looking at Dean's terrified face.

"How do we move him without dislodging this thing?" Bobby asked.

"I don't know—but we have to—if we stay here too much longer, we run the risk of that thing coming back for round two."

It was horrific to imagine the poltergeist coming back for another round of near—fatal attacks. Moving Dean would be incredibly risky, but they had no choice but to do it.

"Here," Bill said, as he leaned down to pick up a shirt that had been left discarded on the floor. "Let's wrap it _carefully _around the knife so it won't move." As he gently wrapped the shirt around the base the injury, he kept a careful eye on Dean.

His color was still good—slightly pale, but it was okay. It was the stab wound he was most concerned about, and the fact that his breathing was so labored.

"Can you walk?" Bobby asked, trying to figure out the logistics of carrying Dean out of the house vs the possibility of him walking out.

"I—I don't know," Dean said.

It was scary to know that his body, which had served him so well over the years, was now abandoning him in a time when he needed it the most. It was horrifying not to know what he was capable of anymore, as he tried to sit up with Bobby's assistance.

Once Bill had helped him stand, he stood for several seconds, before trying to take another step with Bobby's help. Once he was assured of their assistance, he felt more confident in his chances of making it out of the house in one piece, as they walked out of the room and down the large staircase.

"You're doing good, Dean," Bill said quietly, "we're almost there."

"Duh," Dean said, still retaining some of his sense of humor and sarcasm, as he glimpsed the front door. "Let's just hurry up." The last thing he wanted was for the poltergeist to make another surprise appearance, as he tried to get his body to carry him foreword faster.

"Don't push it, Dean," Bobby warned, as he made sure to keep his hand at Dean's side so the knife wouldn't get removed accidentally.

"I know."

Once they had finally cleared the house, Dean allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief. The poltergeist only existed _inside _the house, and so wouldn't be able to follow them out.

"Let's get to a hospital," Bill said, as he took the driver's seat, while Bobby and Dean climbed into the backseat.


	20. Chapter 20

The waiting was unbearable—any number of things could be happening in the back of the trauma unit where the doctors had rushed Dean, when Bill had managed to speed into the ER, and now he and Bobby were alone with their horrific thoughts, as they tried to center their minds on Dean getting better, of him surviving the operation they had been told he had needed to have, and not something catastrophic happening to him.

The checkered floor was quickly becoming friends with Bobby, as he paced endless circle after endless circle in front of the row of cheap chairs he had abandoned, after leafing through the fiftieth outdated magazine. It wasn't as though he had _actually _been paying attention to the print on the page before him, anyway, as he ran an exhausted hand over his face, as he glanced repeatedly over at the double set of doors the doctors had disappeared through.

That had been over an hour ago, and that had been the last update that Bobby had heard from the fifty-something doctor who had come out to inform him that Dean had been stable enough to operate on so quickly.

"He'll be okay," Bill said, as he watched his friend's rapid progression across the limited space they had in the waiting room they had been directed to to wait in.

"I hope so—if those idiotic doctors and nurses know what the hell they're doing." It wasn't _in _his nature to trust doctors and nurses. From his own personal experiences with them, they were prying, meddlesome fools who had the ability to make a little issue snowball into something more, and the last thing he needed was this incident reported to CPS.

He hoped that his excuse that Dean had slipped at school with the knife, would be enough for them to forget about the legality of the injury, and focus solely on getting him well again. When he had tried going to the front desk to request more information about his condition, he had simply been told that someone would be out shortly to speak with him.

"They do," Bill said. "My brother was a doctor in one of these hospitals. He's in good hands, Singer."

"Good—thanks." He needed that reassurance more than anything. It was one thing for the poltergeist to launch a series of attacks like the one that had downed Dean, but it was quite another for it to actually meet its mark, and injure a child that never should have been there in the first place.

"What did you tell the doctors?"

"He tripped at school—stupid accident, but nothing more."

"You think it will be enough to keep CPS away?"

"I hope."

If CPS came after them again, Bobby harbored no illusions as to what he would do in a situation like that. He would run and hide the boys from their judgmental and unfair grip, and do what he could to make sure they were protected from further harm.

"What would you do if something happened again-"

"Take them and run," Bobby said, lowering his voice in case any of the gossiping nurses happened to be eavesdropping on their private conversation.

"Would you _actually_ do it?"

Bill knew almost better than anyone how seriously the guys tried to make the boy's lives as normal as possible. It was something _he_ understood because he tried to do the same thing for his daughter, Jo, it was better to do it that way if at all possible, so they wouldn't be raised solely with the horrors and brutality of the hunting world, and would know some of the things their peers did on a regular basis.

"If I had to."

He would do _anything_ if it meant making sure the boys were safe—even going against what he and the other guys had promised they would _never _do —raise them on the road, shuffling from motel to motel in their attempts to escape capture.

"Well, hopefully it won't come to that."

"I hope not."

Even though he would do it if he had to, he hated the thought of ripping another security blanket from the boys, and raising them in the kind of life that they would be completely unaccustomed to in the sheltered kind of life they had previously enjoyed.

"Robert Singer?"

Jerking his head up to meet the expectant gaze of the same doctor who had previously promised a much quicker update, as he and Bill beat a path to his side, desperate for any information on the thirteen-year-old who had been taken back in such critical condition.

"How is he?" Bobby demanded. "Did he make it through the surgery? Were there any complications?" He was completely aware of how fast he was spouting out his questions, but he was desperate to know how Dean had managed to fare, and how he was.

"He made it through," the doctor assured him, as he took a seat between Bobby and Bill, and watched as Bobby took the requested seat he gestured to him. "Miraculously, the knife managed to avoid piercing any of the vital organs or vessels—the only damage that I see right now, are a few broken ribs."

"So he'll be okay, then?" Bobby pressed, not quite believing the stoke of luck that had rained down on his family. For once, it seemed, they were getting a break from all the horrific bad luck that had come down on them lately.

"Yes—during the next few weeks, he'll need to take it easy, but he should be feeling better fairly soon."

"When can we see him?" Bill asked, speaking up for the first time as he exchanged incredulously relieved looks with Bobby.

"Right now if you want. He just came out so he's still groggy."

"Okay." Not that any of that mattered. Even if he was completely out of it, at least Bobby would have the visual confirmation of Dean's recovery that he needed.

As they walked down the long halls toward the recovery rooms, Bobby tried to remember that Dean would be alright, even if it was one close call he could have gladly lived without, as he and Bill followed the doctor down the halls.

"Will he suffer any long-term effects from this?" Bobby asked, voicing the other pressing concern that had been at the tip of his tongue all afternoon, even though it wasn't nearly as important as the knowledge that Dean was going to be fine.

"No. Like I said, for the next few weeks, he'll be in some pain, but that will eventually subside. He'll need to do some deep breathing exercises, also," he said, as they approached Dean's room, "to eliminate any possible damage to his lungs."

"What kind of damage?" Bill asked.

"If there aren't some precautions being taken to safeguard against damage, one of the ribs could splinter and puncture his lung."

Having that added knowledge, didn't help ease Bobby's worried mind, but it certainly helped to be prepared, as he tried to closely follow what the doctor was saying to him. "Okay, how long do we need to do that for?"

"Just for the first week or two."

After that, the doctor halted his speech, and allowed them entry into Dean's room. At first glance, the sight looked foreboding. Different wires and tubes were hooked up to different parts of him, but when Bobby and Bill took a step closer, they were relieved to see that he looked okay.

His soft hazel eyes were just beginning to open, as they immediately locked onto the two people who he had been the most anxious to see. "Hey," he croaked, his voice rough.

"Hey, boy," Bobby said, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You doing alright, there?"

"Sure, as long as these damn wires can come off me," Dean replied with a noticeable grimace.

"Well, I'll see what I can arrange," Bobby said dryly. "Are you in any pain?"

"A little—nothing too bad."

"Good."

"You took quite the hit," Bill said, as he sat down next to him. "But that damn poltergeist isn't there anymore, so whatever happened, obviously did the trick."

"Awesome," Dean said, giving him a thumbs up sign. "So what's the damage?"

"You were lucky—the knife managed to avoid hitting _all _the major organs and vessels. The only thing you have to worry about now is one of your ribs splintering and causing a collapse."

Dean nodded. "Okay. When can I go home?"

"If everything goes okay, tomorrow sometime."

"Well," Dean said, as he flashed a flirtatious smile at one of the nurses that walked by his room. "At least the nurses are _totally _hot in this place."

* * *

By the time he was finally released from the confines of the hospital the next day, Dean was more than ready to blow the place. Hot nurses or not. The pain in his side was still as present as ever, but at least he didn't have a large knife protruding from it, and didn't have the fear of not being able to make it to the hospital.

Still, he wasn't used to having his body be so weakened by something of that magnitude. Every step he took, had to be carefully calculated so he wouldn't angle his body in the wrong way and cause further pain to his delicate side. The breathing treatments that the doctors had prescribed for him, helped some, even though it was always a pain in the ass when his side would start rebelling against the movement the air made as it passed through his lungs.

No one was happier to have Dean back than Sam was. When he first walked through the door, the guys had had to warn him not to jump on Dean, that he could accidentally hurt him if he did that. Still, it was nice to see him, and show off his battle scars that he had so clearly earned.

"Are you going to be okay?" Sam asked, in a rare moment of seriousness.

"Yup."

"What about your side?"

"It's fine—I have to do some breathing exercises to make sure that my lungs stay fine, but I'm okay."

And he was lucky, too, and he knew that.

"Okay," Sam said, still not entirely convinced.

"Come on," Dean said, "let's go upstairs and watch some cartoons or something."

"I'm game."


	21. Chapter 21

Even though his side still hurt from the surprise attack the poltergeist had launched at him—Dean couldn't deny the perks of having an injury like that. Instead of rushing back home like they usually did after a visit was nearing its conclusion, for his own health and in an attempt to have him recuperate faster, they delayed leaving for an extra few days.

Ellen was more than happy to accommodate them. As a hunter's wife, she was no stranger to her fair share of bloody sights and injuries, and was more than equipped to handle the unique nature of Dean's recovering stab wound, as she catered to him in the only way that a mother knew how, as she made sure he had his breathing treatments, and made sure that he only had the best food for a recovering body.

Unfortunately for him, that meant most of the foods and drinks that he favored, were out. Only to be replaced with healthy, nutritional ones like whole grains, soups and water, although she _did_ compromise, and allowed him to have one soda a day as long as he followed through with what she was doing for him.

"Are you _sure_ you have to leave, Bobby?" Ellen asked, her voice softening in sympathy, as she looked back at the thirteen-year-old, who had just barely started walking around the day before. She would have loved to have had them stay an extra few days until Dean was back on his feet more.

"We have to—the judge wants a progress hearing to see how the boys are doing." As part of having temporary custody of Sam and Dean, Bobby was forced to attend semi-regular status hearings so the judge could determine how well the boys were faring, and how Bobby was managing his new guardian-status.

"Okay," she finally said. "But I just don't want Dean to have to endure this long ride back home when he's been through so much already." Even though his body was much stronger than a typical kid's, thanks to the careful training Caleb had supplied him with, she still knew how much of a beating his body had taken.

"I don't want him to have to go, _either_," Bobby said, looking at her as though she had suddenly grown two heads, "but my hands are tied, Ellen."

"I know, just make sure that you stop plenty and let him stretch out a little bit."

This time Bobby rolled his eyes in answer to her order, as he picked up the boys' duffel bags, effortlessly swinging them over his shoulder, as he started moving toward the front door. "I wasn't born yesterday, Ellen."

"Really?" Bill said, as he came down the stairs with the boys in tow. "Because I could have _sworn_-"

"Shut up," Bobby grumbled, as he locked eyes with the weary but eager boys. They all loved coming to see their dear friends, but were always excited to go home and cure the home sickness that always seemed to come sooner or later. "Are you idjits ready?"

"Yeah," Sam said. "I ate _all _my breakfast-"

"Even the berries?" Ellen asked, raising an eyebrow, as though she seriously doubted that he did.

"Yes," Sam nodded. "And then I packed my clothes and brushed my teeth."

"Good boy," she said, planting a kiss on his forehead as she drew him in for a final hug. "Be good for your brother and Bobby," she said. "They'll need it."

"I will."

"Pinkie swear?" she said seriously, as she held out her pinkie for him to make the binding contract with.

"Pinkie swear," Sam confirmed, as he hooked his finger with hers.

"Thank you. See you later, sweetie," she said, as she turned to Dean.

"Yeah," Dean said, as he reached out and accepted the hug that she gave him. "Thanks for everything, Ellen."

"You're welcome, honey. You need to get plenty of rest, okay?"

"Okay," Dean said with a rare, small smile. "Scout's Honor."

"Call when you get there," she instructed Bobby.

"We'll see," Bobby groused.

"I'll make sure he does," Dean said with a grin.

"I know you will."

Even though Dean was excited to be going back to South Dakota, he couldn't say the same thing for the long car ride back. Especially with his side and how easily cramped it got when he accidentally moved into a weird position, but he tolerated it, and learned the best positions to put his body in while in the car.

As he leaned foreword carefully and turned on the radio, he tried to relax as all the cars in the opposing lanes, flew past them. It had been a good trip, minus the stab injury, and that's what counted in his eyes. No sighting of YED, no urgent life and death matter to attend to. It had worked out alright, and he had a battle scar to show for it.

"You doing okay?" Bobby asked, as he momentarily took his eyes off the road to look over at Dean, who had decided to sit in the front seat again.

"Yeah."

"Do you need me to pull over so you can get out and walk?"

"No, I'm good."

"Dean-"

"Bobby," Dean said with a roll of his eyes. "I _promise _I'm okay."

"Just checking—you know Ellen would never forgive me if I let anything happen to you."

"That's because I'm awesome."

Bobby didn't comment, merely shook his head as he switched lanes. "Sam, what about you? Did you have fun?"

"Yes!" Sam said without hesitation. "Ellen let Jo and I play ball in the pool, and then we got to jump on the trampoline." Sam loved the physical energy he expelled when he got to to go to the Harvelles, and he loved having someone close to his age to play with.

"I'm glad," Bobby said. "Her cooking wasn't all that bad either, was it?"

"It was awesome! Especially her strawberry shortcake."

"Dude," Dean said with a groan. "Don't make me hungry."

"And," Sam said, grinning teasingly. "The whipped cream she put on it, and the delicious ice cream she topped it with-"

"Dude!" Dean said with a laugh. "You're horrible—ow!" Whenever he laughed or exerted his side too much, it twinged painfully, but it was worth it for him.

"Sorry," Sam said, still laughing, but definitely more subdued as he heard his brother's cry of pain.

"You're good," Dean said, "my own _stupid_ fault."

This was good—something that he had unconsciously been looking for since Caleb's arrest. Laughing and joking around with his baby brother, wasn't something he even felt like doing most days, and he was relieved that, for once, his sensitive emotions were deciding to give him a day off from the perpetual state of pain that he been living in.

"Yeah," Sam said mock-seriously. "That _was _pretty stupid."

"Shut up," Dean said, as he traded secretive looks with Bobby. "So what did we have to rush back for?" He had heard Bobby talk to Ellen about it, but hadn't heard the whole story yet.

"I have a status hearing in court," Bobby said, as he kept his eyes on the insane rush hour traffic ahead of him.

"Status hearing?" Dean asked, with a raise of an eyebrow.

"A custody status hearing."

"Oh."

One of the pressing concerns of getting his injury, was CPS getting wind of it and using that as an excuse to take he and Sam from Bobby, and placing them in their own care. It would be the last thing they would need, and Dean hoped they would be lucky enough to skate by without having to go through that hell again.

"It's nothing major," Bobby assured him, seeing the look on Dean's face.

"Do they know about what happened to my side?"

"I talked to Dawn and I briefly told her what happened, and she said that she hasn't heard anything from them. So either the hospital decided _not _to call them, or they heard about it and decided not to push it."

Even though Bobby _knew _that the hospital had a legal obligation to report any injuries like that to CPS, he hoped that CPS had decided not to pursue anything against him, and let the matter drop. It would be a rare stroke of luck, and he hoped that was simply the case, and not them waiting to drop the ball on them again.

"When's the hearing?"

"Tomorrow."

"Oh, okay."

* * *

The hearing turned out to be nothing more than what it promised to be—representatives from CPS _were _there, but they never brought up the injury to the judge. If they knew about it, they had wisely decided not to make a big deal out of it, and for that, Bobby was grateful.

He was also grateful that Dawn was in court with him—she was the one who had arranged it so that he could get custody of them instead of Sam and Dean being forced into CPS.

"So we don't have another hearing for a few months?" Bobby asked, as he and Dawn walked out of the courtroom.

"Yes—not for another three or so months. But by then," she said. "I'm _hoping _that whatever happens in Caleb's case, is resolved and I can start petitioning the court to reinstate his custody."

Bobby nodded. "Hopefully that can happen." It wasn't that he didn't greatly enjoy taking care of the boys, he just knew how anxious Dean was for things to go back to the way they were, at least in that department, and he couldn't blame him for that.

"I don't know if you know," Dawn said, "but the appeal I filed to get Caleb bailed out, went through."

"It _did_?"

He certainly hadn't heard that yet, and he paused in his stride as he turned to look at her. "And what happened? Did that fool judge decide to grant him it?"

"No. It was a new judge, and he upheld the original ruling."

Bobby sighed, as he bowed his head. "Of course," he said, shaking his head. "Those idjit judges."

"I know," she said, shaking her head. "I thought we had it, but we didn't."

"So when is the next hearing scheduled to be?"

"It's the preliminary hearing—and it's not scheduled for another six weeks."

"Alright."

Hearing that piece of devastating information would be the last thing that Dean would need right then, but Bobby was powerless to stop it. He wasn't sure if he should tell Dean or not, and if he did, he knew how brokenhearted Dean would be over the knowledge that Caleb wouldn't be able to come home to them, at least not in the foreseeable future.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"It's okay."


	22. Chapter 22

While Bobby was trying to contemplate how _best _to tell Dean that Caleb's appeal had been shot down, another positive was making its presence known: Until that point, Caleb hadn't been allowed access to the phone in the jail to call people, due to his status as a maximum security inmate, but finally the jail had started allowing its inmates privileges like that, and had started letting them make calls to their friends and family

Bobby was grateful for that—it gave him a chance to talk to Caleb without having to travel all that distance to Minnesota, where he had been transported after his arrest, and it gave him a chance to update him on the boys, and especially what had happened in Nebraska.

It was still surreal that he had to resort to those means to speak with his friend—it was still unbelievable that Caleb was in jail again, and for something he didn't do, but at least they now had the option of speaking more freely.

The first call he made, was right after they had gotten back to the safe house. Dawn had told him that Caleb had been allowed phone rights, but until then, he hadn't had the chance to call.

"Hey," Bobby said, once he had accepted the stupid automated message the jail left, before allowing Caleb the chance to talk. "Long time no talk."

_Yeah,_ Caleb said with a laugh. _I know the feeling. How is everything going there?_

"Can't complain," Bobby said carefully, not wanting to start off their talk with the news of Dean's injury, and instead just wanting to enjoy their conversation for a minute. "What about you? Dawn told me that your appeal was denied?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Bobby knew that Caleb was trying to regain control over his fractured emotions the best he could, as he tried to get over the crushing disappointment of not being able to be released.

_The new judge said that he agreed with the old one, that I was a flight risk. I mean it, I can't make a move without that choice coming back to bite me._

It was hard for Bobby to hear the utter hopelessness in Caleb's voice—it had been a choice they _both_ recognized as one that Caleb had no choice _but _to make, and yet it was the choice that had doomed him to spend an immeasurable amount of time behind bars.

"You _know_," Bobby said, "that it was the _right _choice to make." He was trying to insert as much self-confidence into Caleb as he possibly could, as he could feel his friend's pain and self-doubt even on the other end of the line.

_I know it was. I know that I couldn't let them go to CPS. Not when the YED was still out there, _still_ waiting to make a move against Sammy._

"And so _that's _what you need to remember, Caleb."

_I know—but when you're stuck behind bars _all_ day, it starts to wear on you a little._

"I can understand," Bobby said. "How often do you get to call us now?"

_As often as I want, actually, as long as I'm not hogging the phone from other people in here._

That was one bright spot in a world that had become so dark and unclear to him—as long as he didn't hoard the phone in the jail, he was allowed to use it as often as he wanted to call people, and he planned on taking full advantage of that power, too.

"Well, that's good."

_Yeah, I know. I'll _need_ this._

If he was expected to wait another _six_ weeks for another chance at freedom, he needed all the distractions that he could possibly get. It was only because he had kept his head down, and had followed the rules inside the jail that he had been allowed the chance to reconnect again with the outside world, even if it was just a phone call.

"So we just got back from Nebraska."

_Oh, yeah? How did it go?_

"It was...interesting," Bobby finally said, settling on the one word that could best accurately describe the eventful turn their trip had taken. He was still on the fence about telling Caleb about the hunt, knowing how upsetting it would be for him to hear of Dean's injury, and not be able to do anything about it from where he was.

_That sounds promising, _Caleb said with a rare laugh. _Did Bill rope you into a job?_

"You could say that," Bobby said with a roll of his eyes, as he kept an eye on the food he was cooking. It had never been his forte, but he had had to learn somewhat when he had gotten custody of the boys. "You want to talk to the boys?" he asked, realizing that Caleb would be able to do that, now that he had gotten permission to use the phone there.

_Are you kidding? _Caleb said, his voice cracked. _Of course I do._

It had been a few weeks since he had last spoken with the boys, and he had missed it dearly. It had been one of the hardest parts of his imprisonment, being cut off from being a part of their lives, especially with how much they had lost recently with the death of Jim, and Sam being kidnapped by YED.

"Okay," Bobby said. "Dean," he said, holding the phone away from his ear.

"Yeah?" Dean said, as he took a seat at the counter. "Who are you talking to?"

"Caleb," Bobby said with a small smile, as he looked closely at Dean for his reaction to that surprising news.

"Are you _serious_?" Dean whispered, not even _believing_ what he was being told.

"Yeah. He wants to talk to you."

"He...does?"

"_Of course_."

Taking the phone with trembling fingers, not even believing the fact that he would finally be allowed to speak with Caleb after so many weeks of being separated from him, he tried to take control of his overwrought emotions, as he prepared to talk.

"Hey," he said, trying to talk to him like he normally would have, even though there was nothing _normal _about their situation, and the fact that he had to talk to Caleb while he was stuck in _jail_.

_Hey, stranger_, Caleb said with a laugh. _How are you doing, bud?_

"G-good," Dean said shakily, trying to insert as much happiness and confidence into his tone as possible. "You?"

He knew _that_ would be questionable—he couldn't imagine spending so much time in jail for something he didn't even do, but talking to him now, Dean could almost see the smile on his face as they talked to each other.

_I—I can't complain. Some days are better than others._

"Yeah," Dean admitted, as he let his body fall back against the counter. "Sometimes I have days where it's still really hard—the separation—but it's not in my face like most other days are."

_I know the feeling. Some days I wake up and I know that I'll be okay and I can handle it, and then there are other days where I'm feeling it, and it's bad._

Dean nodded, as a single tear slid down his face. Caleb _sounded _happy, sounded glad to talk to him finally, but he knew that was most likely an act that Caleb was putting on so he wouldn't freak out anymore than he already had. "Yeah," he said shakily, "it's the same for me. I just...I just miss you a _lot_."

It was hard to put into words how much he missed Caleb. He missed their incredible bond with each other, he missed the talks they had, he missed how Caleb seemed to know him _so _well, and could use that to his advantage when they had their heart to hearts with each other.

_Well, I would hope you would know that I miss you and Sammy more than I could even put into _words_. You don't really think of what will happen when you're not with each other, and then when it's right there, it hits you like a ton of bricks._

Dean nodded, as he brought his shirt up to his eyes to muffle a quiet sob, as a single tear slid down his face. "Yeah, I know."

_Bobby said that you guys went to see Ellen and Bill_, Caleb said, trying to switch Dean's mind away from the fact that he wasn't there, and on to something positive and happy. _How did that go?_

"It was good. Bill had us helping him on a job."

Of course the job had turned out to be a nightmare one, that had almost resulted in him losing his life, but he didn't know if Bobby had broached that topic with him yet or not.

_That's what I heard—how did it go?_

"Well," Dean said, shaking his head in disbelief, as he found himself relaxing in just the slightest, as he prepared to divulge what happened on the hunt. "I almost got killed," he said with a small laugh.

_Excuse me?_

"It was a poltergeist, and we had cleared the bottom half of the house, and when we went upstairs where most of the attacks had happened, the poltergeist flung this knife at me, and it got me in the side."

_Are you kidding me? _Caleb said incredulously. _Are you okay?_

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I had to have surgery and crap like that, but I'm mostly okay now. I just have some broken ribs that are healing, and that's pretty much it."

It was a close call, but he had been lucky to escape from serious harm, and he fully realized that, too.

_You're lucky—and I'm sure you learned your lesson about offering Bill any help, _he said with a laugh.

"Hell yeah. So uh, Bobby mentioned something about Dawn maybe getting you bail on appeal or something?" Bobby hadn't mentioned anything else about the status of the motion she had filed, and he was wondering what, if anything, had transpired.

_Yeah, _Caleb said, choosing his words carefully, as he tried to figure out a way to break Dean's heart gently, as if there was even a _way_ to do that. _The hearing happened already._

"And?" Dean pressed expectantly.

_And there was a new judge who heard it, and he denied it._

For a split second, Dean was _sure_ he had heard him wrong. There was no way that two judges had denied him bail, and for the most ridiculous of reasons, too. It wasn't like Caleb could go far if he turned over his passport, and agreed to wear one of those stupid ankle monitoring bracelets.

"They _denied _it?" he demanded weakly, feeling tears burn the corners of his eyes.

_Unfortunately_, Caleb said, allowing just a little bit of bitterness to seep into his tone. _And that was my last chance to get out before the prelim happens, and with the way my luck has continually screwed me over, I'm sure I'll be headed to trial before too long._

"When," Dean said, closing his eyes as he took a deep, comforting breath. "When is the prelim supposed to happen?"

_Not...not for another six weeks or so. The courts are backlogged with cases, and it wouldn't be fair to put the ones who are going first, behind me, and so Dawn is trying to fast track it but that's the soonest we can get in._

Dean shook his head, as he tried to keep a grip on his fractured emotions, as he tried to remind himself that he was lucky enough to at least be _talking_ to Caleb, even though he missed actually _seeing _him more than anything in the world.

"Then what happens?"

_Then the judge determines if there's enough evidence to send me all the way to trial or not._

Caleb wasn't feeling too confident about his chances—there had just been too many letdowns for him to have full and complete faith in the system like he used to have.

"Can I—can I ask you something?" Dean said, as he pinched the bridge between his nose and eyes with two fingers.

_Shoot._

"I just have this feeling," Dean said, "and just tell me that I'm acting stupid, okay? But I feel like all _this _is _my _fault." When he had confided in Bobby what he was really feeling, Bobby had told him in no uncertain terms that it was ridiculous to feel that way, but it was the way his brain was hardwired into thinking that was the problem.

_Dean, I made a choice, _Caleb said, trying to make him see that it was in no way shape or form _his_ fault for what had happened to him. _This is _not_ on you. You did _not_ force me into that car, you did _not_ do anything that made this happen. I don't want you blaming yourself, because it's not true, Dean. There is no way I believe that, and you shouldn't either._

"It's just how I _think_-"

_Then you need to tell your brain to shut up, because the kind of crap you put on yourself, Dean, isn't right. It's not anything anyone could have helped. I made a choice to protect you and your brother, and whatever happened after that, is on me completely._

"What if you get convicted? What if that judge gives you a life sentence?"

_Then—then we will deal with it _if _and _when_ it comes. Right now, we need to, as much as we possibly can, look on the bright side of things, alright? We need to imagine the best possible outcome for this._

Dean nodded. "Yeah. At least this time I can talk to you."

Last time he had been in jail for murder, he had been cut off completely from Caleb. No phone calls, no anything, and he had had to wait three entire months before seeing him again.

_That's right—that's one big improvement, isn't it? _

"Yeah. How often can you call?"

_There's no limit, actually. As long as I'm not hoarding the phone, I can call every day if I want to._

"Can you?"

_Sure._

"Okay."

_Do you mind if I talk to Sammy before I have to hang up?_

"Well," Dean said, trying to reclaim the teasing attitude he had had when they had first started talking. "I _could _but then that'd be too nice."

_Give him the phone, _Caleb said in a mock-serious voice.

"Fine," Dean said, with a roll of his eyes, even though Caleb couldn't see it from where he was. "I love you."

_I love you too, dude._

* * *

As Sam got on the phone with him, Caleb tried to reign in his emotions as best he could. Even though he knew that Sam _knew _where he was, he didn't want to let his voice betray just how hard the last two or three weeks had been on him, and he wanted to enjoy a really good conversation with the energetic nine-year-old.

_Hi, _Sam said, as he finally got on the other end of the line.

Caleb smiled, even though he could feel his heart break that he couldn't be there physically with them. At least not yet, but being able to finally have the chance to, at least, somewhat be a part of their lives again, was incomparable to him.

"Hey, Sammy boy," he said softly, using his nickname for him. "How are you doing?"

_Good—I miss you, though. _

He could almost see the way Sam pouted as he talked to him, and he missed it. He missed everything _about _those boys, and that was what was so hard about not being able to see them. It was the little things as much as it was the big things.

"I miss you more," Caleb said teasingly, as his hand absently wiped away a tear.

_Uh-uh. I miss you more than all the ice cream and cookies in the _world_._

"Wow," Caleb said. "I feel so honored. I mean more than all the treats in the universe, huh?"

_Yup—I decided._

"Well, I miss you more than all the cakes and cookies and ice creams in the _planet_."

Sam giggled. _When are you going to come back? _He asked, his voice taking on a more serious tone as he broached that topic.

"I don't know—I have to have a judge agree to let me out first."

_When is _that_ going to be?_

"It might be a little while, Sammy," he said, speaking quietly.

How_ long? _Sam pressed.

"Well," Caleb said, "I have to go before a judge in about six weeks, and see if the evidence in this case, clears me or not. If it doesn't, I have to go to trial so a jury can decide if I'm guilty or not."

_But you're _not_ guilty, _Sam said, struggling to understand why no one else could understand that, as he spoke with the loving, kind Caleb that he had known almost his entire life.

"I know that," Caleb said, closing his eyes against the pain that he felt, as he tried to speak consciously for himself and for Sam. "And _you _know that—and so does Dean and Bobby, but it's the opinions of the people that have the power of keeping me in eternal boredom, that matters."

_I hate this_, Sam said, and Caleb could hear him sniffling. _Dean and Bobby said that I couldn't come and see you because there are things I might see that would upset me._

Caleb nodded. "Yeah, there would be probably be a few things, buddy."

_I know, but I still want to see you. You're my buddy._

Caleb shook his head, as he scrubbed his fingers through his eyes, trying to keep himself under control long enough to finish the conversation. "And you're _my _buddy, Sammy," he said, as tears leaked down his face, as he struggled to keep his voice under control.

_Then why-_

"There are rules that you may not understand, and I don't want you to see me in that position."

_What rules?_

"You can't touch me, you can't hug me in any way."

The no physical contact rule was hard. It wasn't enough that he had to be in jail, but then he was denied the right to hug his family and friends when they came to see him. It just got crueler and crueler by the minute, and he was powerless to stop it.

_Why not?_

"Because they wouldn't know if you were trying to pass something along to me, or vice versa. It's a dumb rule, I know," he said, as he rolled his eyes, even though Sam couldn't see it, "but it's the system they have right now."

_Dean and Bobby said something about them having you in cuffs or something while they talked to you?_

That was something Sam _never _understood—and he hoped that Caleb could shed some light on that delicate issue—he didn't understand why someone, who wasn't violent, would have to be restrained.

"Yeah," Caleb said. "Just a precaution to protect _me_," he added, hoping Sam would understand it better then. "And to protect them. They have me wear the cuffs because they _don't _know, Sam. And that's one of the reasons why I don't want you to see me, because I don't want you to have to deal with the fallout of seeing me like that."

There was silence on the other end of the line. _I could handle it. _

"I know you could, buddy."

_If I can't see you for awhile, can we still talk like this?_

"You bet."

At least he could promise the boys that one small thing; at least, while he waited for his next hearing to get underway, he and the boys could still be a part of each other's lives.


	23. Chapter 23

**Six Weeks Later**

"You doing okay?"

"Hell no."

It was the first morning of Caleb's preliminary hearing—from Dawn's best estimation, if everything went smoothly and according to plan, the judge _could _render the decision to either send the case to trial or dismiss it, _that_ day. It would be preferable to know right then, even though Caleb could feel his heart race in his ribcage, as he watched the prosecution begin to prepare their statement to the court that would detail the amount of evidence against him.

"I know," she whispered, as she kept one eye on him and the other eye on the room at large. "But try to stay calm, okay? The last thing you need is for the judge to see you react."

"Alright."

Secretly, Caleb didn't know _why_ his reactions would make any impact on a judge that had the sole responsibility of judging the case based on the evidence of the case and not his own, personal reactions to things, but he wisely held his tongue as he focused his attention on the prosecutor, who was getting ready to speak.

"Good morning," prosecutor Mark Williamson said, after finalizing his notes and how he would use them to present an efficient and believable case to the judge. "Let me first start off by thanking this courtroom for their time and attention this morning, and for the services that they have sacrificed."

Caleb resisted the urge to roll his eyes. This man was trying to suck up to the judge, and he could only hope that the judge would be smart enough to suss that out on his own.

"Be careful," Dawn warned, seeing how upset he was getting.

"I know."

"What does the state wish to prove?" Judge Clemens asked.

"The State will prove during the course of this hearing today, that the marks on Dean and Sam Winchester, are consistent with the charges in the indictment, that their guardian, Caleb Rivers knowingly and willingly caused the cuts and bruises on their arms and back."

Caleb couldn't control himself, as he shook his head in blatant disagreement and rage at what this man was saying. Someone who didn't know him from a hole in the wall, and yet still felt the audacity to pin something so horrible and cruel on him.

"And then," the man said, hammering the final nail in the coffin, as he turned to face the judge again. "On September 22nd 1992, after being ordered to surrender custody to the offices of Minnesota Child Protective Services, the defendant was caught fleeing over state lines with the boys, which in our law and in our country, proves kidnapping."

This was unbelievable—this man didn't know the _half_ of it—he didn't know the reasons for why Caleb had chosen to run with them. He didn't know the danger the boys would have been placed in if he had allowed CPS to take them. It was the judgment and the scrutiny that was so hard for him to take, and it was the one thing that the hearing centered around that morning, as he tried his hardest to reign in his emotions.

"You may proceed," the judge said calmly, as he looked down at his papers to write something down.

"Thank you."

The first portion of the prosecution's case was all about the abuse and neglect charges that he had been charged with. Calling several different medical witnesses to the stand to testify to the validity of the injuries, the prosecution got one woman to admit that the marks appeared to be consistent with a sprain or break.

"And is it _your _contention that the purple and blue marks on Dean's upper arm, is consistent with a sprain or a break of some kind?" The prosecutor Mark Williamson asked her, as she stared calmly back at him.

"Yes, it is."

Caleb bowed his head, shaking his head as he wiped a few stray tears from his eyes. This woman had no idea how much he loved those boys, had no idea that those marks had been caused by something _inhuman, _and that he would sooner die than cause those boys _any _harm, physical or otherwise.

"And obviously a mark like that needs to be seen by a doctor?"

"Absolutely."

"Thank you."

After that, came the issue of their absences from school, which the prosecution was hoping to corroborate with their injuries based on a general timeline of when the injuries had allegedly occurred.

"How many times were Dean and Sam Winchester absent from school this year?" Mark asked the principal he had called to the stand.

"We have it documented that they were absent approximately twenty-five times in the last three to four months."

"And at any point did you see the boys come back with bruises or marks like the ones that have been shown this morning?"

"Yes."

Caleb couldn't believe his ears—the principal and he had always gotten along fairly well, and he couldn't even believe that this man was now throwing him under the bus when he knew, and had seen for his own eyes, how much he and those boys loved each other.

"Did they appear scared or exhausted?"

"Exhausted—yes," he admitted, as he avoided looking in Caleb's direction. "Scared—no."

That was obviously the wrong answer, at least in the prosecution's eyes, as he winced noticeably, before switching to another topic. "And how many times did you see Dean with bruises on his arm?"

"Several times."

Liar.

Caleb knew for a fact that there had only been a few occasions in which the boys had gone to school with _any _bruises or marks on their arms, and each time, it had been something that had healed over a period of time. It wasn't nearly as serious as this man was trying to imply.

"And were you the one to make the first call to the child protection agency?"

"Yes."

"Why did you decide to report it now?"

That would be interesting to hear—if this man was detailing so many injuries to Dean, why didn't he report it long before this? As Caleb found himself leaning foreword unconsciously to hear his answer, he was aware of the notes that Dawn was writing down, no doubt preparing her rebuttal to what was being said from the prosecution.

"Because of the heightened severity of the bruising."

"Was he able to flex the arm in question, or have any range of motion?"

"No."

"No further questions."

Caleb was relieved when Dawn got her chance to get up and ask the man some questions of her own.

"Did you ever see the boys scared of Caleb Rivers?"

"No."

Of course not.

"Did you ever see Caleb Rivers hit or grab the children?"

"No."

And that man never would have because he would have sooner died than hurt those kids in _any _way shape or form. It was ridiculous that this was even happening, but even more so when he realized that someone at the school, who he considered to be a friend, had betrayed him in such a huge way.

After that, followed a brief lunch break, before they were back in court. This time, the second half of the prosecution's case concerned the alleged kidnapping that had transpired. This time, it was much easier for the prosecutor to prove his case, as he strutted around the courtroom floor as though he owned it, as he interrogated the arresting officer who had caught Caleb and the boys.

"Were you the one to stop Caleb Rivers on the twenty-second of September of this year?"

"Yes," Officer Adams said, as he paused to take a sip from his water bottle.

"And what did you initially pull him over for?"

"The CPS had called us, and had told us that the boys had not been turned over, and we considered that a kidnapping case, and so we had put out an APB."

"What was his demeanor as you two talked?" 

"Calm—cooperative."

Even though Caleb had been terrified of what he _knew _was going to happen, he had also known that raising a fit about it and fighting the officer, would have only led to more problems for him in the end.

"And what about when you were placing him under arrest?"

"The only request he made was that I _not_ cuff him in front of the boys."

Caleb remembered that well—it would be traumatic enough for them to find out that he had been arrested, without having the sight of him in handcuffs be seared into their brains for the rest of their lives.

"Was he aware of the court order stipulating that he had to surrender physical custody of them?"

"Yes."

"And was he aware of what time he was supposed to have them there?"

"Yes."

"Where did you catch him?"

"In South Dakota."

"No further questions."

To anyone on the outside—anyone who _didn't _know the truth—it _would _look like he had rebelled against the court order in place, and had taken the boys in an attempt to flee. What they _didn't_ know what that he was only doing it to protect them, to make sure YED didn't have another chance to take Sam.

After that, it was Dawn's turn to take the floor. While she didn't call any witnesses, her powerful testimony to the court was enough, as Caleb leaned foreword in his seat to listen to her, hoping that whatever she said, would be enough to override the damage that the prosecution had caused with their careless words.

"We can debate who caused the bruise marks," she said, referring to the first part of the prosecution's opening to the judge. "We can debate if it was my client, or simply a freak accident, but we cannot prove conclusively that they came _from _my client-"

"We also can't prove they _didn't _come from him," the prosecutor interjected.

"You heard the testimony," Dawn said, acting as though there had been no interruption. "You heard those teachers and that principal describe to you, your honor, what a loving and caring guardian my client is, and how those boys _never _acted scared or vulnerable around him.

In regards to the kidnapping charge," she said, shaking her head. "Your Honor, I know what our law defines as kidnapping, but you have to consider the facts of _this _case. There was no intention to harm them, there was no intention of keeping them against their will, there was none of that. A few months previously, Sam was kidnapped from his school. An incident that _was _reported to the authorities, and so it would only make sense that he wanted to protect them."

Caleb had no idea if she had proved what she wanted or not. No matter his reasoning for taking the boys, it was still considered kidnapping in the eyes of the law, and that was what he was nervous about, as he waited for the judge to make his final ruling.

The ruling that would either abolish the case completely, or hold him over for trial. He knew it would be dangerous to be optimistic in this case, when everything had gone so completely wrong for him lately, and with that mindset, he faced the judge as he began speaking.

"I don't know what happened with those bruise marks," the judge said. "Apparently there have been several instances where there have been marks on the children, and they have not been attended to by a doctor, and in our state and in our culture that is a moral obligation of the parent or guardian to provide that for the child.

In regards to the charge of kidnapping, I can appreciate the special circumstances surrounding it, but that does not excuse taking them outside of the state, and even going so far as to admit to the fact that that was what he was doing. There was a judgment, or a court order against him, telling him he had to surrender custody of the children, who would have been perfectly safe from any would-be kidnappers, and instead of abiding by the order, he ran."

Caleb shook his head, not even believing what the judge was saying.

"It's okay," Dawn whispered.

"In my opinion, the prosecution has proved probable cause in relation to the kidnapping charge in the indictment."

This time Caleb couldn't hold back his emotions, as a single tear slid down his face.

"Does November first work for opening arguments?"

November first—three weeks away. At least it wouldn't be long before he had to face the music, and go through the emotional nightmare of another trial, but he also knew that he would be doomed for another round of sleepless nights, and endless agonizing over the decision a jury could make.

"Yes," the prosecution said.

"We'll be ready," Dawn said.


	24. Chapter 24

Caleb was in a state of complete and utter shock—the same judge who had heard all the untruthful and out there theories spouted by the prosecution about how the boys had gotten their bruises—had clearly believed them, and more importantly, had believed what the prosecution had claimed defined kidnapping, not even paying _attention_ to the idea that there could be more to the story than he just being rebellious and wanting to defy them.

Whatever the judge's reasoning for continuing the case to trial—it was over and done with—for the second time in his life, he would be going on trial for something that he hadn't even _done_. It was unfair, it was devastating, and it meant more sleepless nights for him, as he tried to think of a way to ignore the hollow pit in the center of his stomach. The pit that kept brutally reminding him that his luck could only extend so far when it came to acquittals and Dawn's miraculous way of weaving and twisting evidence together to fit what she wanted the jury to see.

This time, the wait wouldn't be nearly as long—three weeks—which in a way was even worse than the last time he had had to wait. This time, he didn't have the time to mentally prepare himself for what he would hear, what he would see from the prosecution and their brainwashed witnesses.

And it meant more time away from the boys, who had already lost so much in their young and sheltered lives as it was. How could it have been five months since Jim had lost his life at the hands of YED? Ever since then, things had snowballed into a massive ball of confusion, chaos and hurt. There could never be downtime, that would only be too kind for the small family who had already lost so much so suddenly.

The only thing that registered in his devastated brain, was the bailiff putting a restraining hand on his arm, signaling to him that it was time to leave, as he gently propelled him to his feet. Standing numbly, he turned back briefly when Dawn started saying something to him.

"I'll come see you later today," she promised him.

"Okay."

Trying to take some comfort in her words, he allowed the bailiff to lead him out of the suddenly claustrophobic courtroom, and out into the hall where the restraints came back on. Trying to ignore them the best he could, he walked silently down the long and intermingling halls until they reached the underground parking garage, where the police car they had arrived in, was parked.

Leaning his head back against the hard seats, he tried to draw breath through the panic he was feeling, as they drove the long journey back to the jail. If he was convicted of all the counts against him, he wouldn't be in jail anymore—he would be in prison—and the thought of that alone, was enough to make him want to throw up, but he didn't as he gritted his teeth against the nausea that he felt.

When he returned to the jail, the guards immediately led him back to his cell until Dawn arrived. This time, instead of suffering through the usual dread that often accompanied being locked back in that tiny space, he found comfort in that, as he was allowed to privately process everything that had just happened in that courtroom.

As a torrent of tears rained softly down his face, he didn't bother trying to stop their approach, as he sat on his cot and let them slide into his mouth. He tasted saltwater, as he restlessly got up from the cot to pace erratically around his cell, scrubbing a hand over his face.

Luckily he didn't have to wait long for Dawn to meet him back at the jail—before too long, the guards were coming by his cell to get him for the meeting. Numbly allowing them to put the embarrassing waist chain and cuffs on, he followed them without a problem as they led him down the halls until they reached the room he and Dawn were allowed to meet in.

She was waiting for him—seated at the metal table that stood in the center of the room—as the guards seated him in front of her, he waited to let out his frustrations and emotions until they were safely out of earshot of the unsympathetic guards, as he stared down at his cuffed hands, trying to ignore the degrading restraints as best he could.

It wasn't easy, though. The waist chain made it hard to move, and the cuffs on his wrists dug into his skin unless he kept them mostly still, as he tried to reign in his emotions long enough to be able to discuss what came next with her.

"What the hell happened?" he demanded weakly, as he shook his head in disbelief.

"The prosecution had a good case," she admitted, "and unfortunately for _us_, the judge bought it."

Caleb sighed. "Well, what does that mean for _us _now?"

"We have time to get everything lined up," she said carefully. "I have time to get our witnesses and defense together." It was only three weeks, but it was enough for her to make sure she had everything in order, and make sure that she had an effective defense.

"What are you going to line _up _exactly?" he asked, trying to make sure that he was crystal clear on their strategy so there wouldn't be any surprises later on.

"I'm going to call different child pediatricians and psychologists to the stand, and then I'm going to call some different experts in behavior and that sort of thing."

"What about a defense?"

"For the abuse and neglect charges, it will be fairly simple to prove our case. There's no clear evidence that implicates _you _in the crime. There's no conclusive proof that those marks were from you. You may have had an obligation to make sure they were seen, but that doesn't mean _you_ inflicted them."

Caleb nodded, absently scrubbing away a maddening tear. "Yeah—and the fact that Dean defended me to that girl, and told her what happened."

"Exactly. We still have a strong chance of winning this."

It was hard to feel her optimism when everything had gone so completely wrong—especially that morning at the hearing. The prosecution had been out for blood, and they had gotten it when the judge had agreed to continue the case to trial.

"What about the kidnapping rap?"

That was the _one _charge that he was most worried about—no matter how much he hated to admit it, the state had a case when it came to that. In the eyes of the law, he had committed the crime when he had taken the boys outside of Minnesota, and had been caught attempting to flee. It was something he had done in a desperate moment of urgency, and it had ended up snowballing into something that even _he _hadn't been able to predict.

"That one will be difficult to disprove—the prosecutor had a point when he said that how the law defines it, it _is _kidnapping. You were caught transporting the boys over the state lines, and directly going _against _a court order."

"Right, but you told me before that there are other mitigating circumstances to consider."

"Correct."

"Can't you use the excuse, which is accurate by the way, that I was only concerned about Sam's kidnapper finding him again?" Of course, he knew that CPS would have a counter argument to that, but he didn't care. It didn't matter if, in their eyes, Sam would have been safe there. He only knew what _he_ knew, and that was that there was no way he was letting the boys walk into danger _just_ like that.

"That will be a major part of my defense—and that, as also stated in the law that defines kidnapping, the perpetrator has to have some sort of malicious intent. For example, he took someone to hold for ransom, or to be a slave of some kind."

"Yeah," Caleb said with a slightly hysterical laugh. "_None _of that applies to me."

"I know that."

"How long will the trial last?"

"A few weeks."

"Good."

* * *

"Hey," Bobby said, as he got on the phone with Caleb. He knew that morning had been the start of Caleb's preliminary hearing, and while he would have given anything to have been there in person, he knew that staying with the boys, especially Dean, had been more important.

Especially with how on edge Dean had been that entire morning, as thoughts of what would be happening to his beloved guardian, had started to sink into his overwrought brain.

_Hey_, Caleb said. _How's everything going there? _

"Same. What about you? How did the prelim go?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Bobby knew that couldn't be a good sign, as he mentally braced himself for whatever bombshell Caleb was about to drop on him.

_The judge thought the prosecution proved probable cause, especially in regards to the kidnapping charge. _

Caleb was usually a strong person—an excellent hunter—and someone who was normally brimming with self-confidence, but ever since his arrest, that part of him had started to slip, only to be replaced with someone who was tired of the hits that kept coming his way, and exhausted of being stuck in jail all day long, day in and day out.

"So you're headed to trial, then," Bobby surmised, shaking his head in disbelief.

_Yeah—the opening arguments aren't supposed to start for another three weeks. _

It wasn't _great_—but it wasn't _awful_ either. At least he didn't have to wait an outrageous amount of time before he could get his day in court. Of course, Bobby would have preferred him _not_ to have to go through that at _all_.

"How long is the trial supposed to _last_?"

Depending on the charges and the amount of evidence to sort through, Bobby knew that it could be anywhere from a few days, to a few weeks to even a few _months_, and he couldn't imagine having to sit down and have _that_ conversation with Dean.

_Dawn only thinks a few weeks. _

"Well, that's not too bad."

_Guess not—but I just feel like this is the beginning of the end, _he admitted, as Bobby could hear his voice start to crack on the other end of the line, and it broke his heart.

"What...what do you mean?" Bobby asked, as he leaned against the counter.

_I might be able to beat the abuse and neglect charges, but the kidnapping one is almost a lock for the prosecution. It's right there in front of them, and all they have to do is make a jury believe the same thing _they _do. _

"Well, you don't know _what _they'll believe."

_It's pretty easy to guess right now. Listen, can I talk to Dean first? Then I need to talk to Sammy. _

"Of course." One of the perks of him having phone rights now, was that he was able to converse regularly now with the boys, and they both loved that time with him, even though he couldn't be there physically with them quite yet. "Dean," he called, holding the phone away from his ear. "Caleb wants to talk to you."

It only took a few seconds for the thirteen-year-old to appear in the room, as he held out his hand expectantly for the phone. It was the highlight of his day whenever Caleb was able to call from the jail, and while he hated to be in the position of having to talk to his guardian like that, at least he was able to do that at _all. _

"Hey," he said, as he situated himself on the island chair. "What's up? How did the hearing go?"

_It—it didn't go so well._

"What do you mean?" Dean demanded, feeling his hand clench tighter around the phone in direct response to the anxiety that was assaulting his senses.

_The judge thought the dick prosecutor proved probable cause in relation to the kidnapping charge, and he agreed to send the case to trial._

Dean bowed his head against the pain he was feeling, as he scrubbed an arm across his face to catch any of the irksome tears that were pushing for dominance right then. "So what does that mean? When is the trial going to start?"

_In about three weeks_," Caleb said carefully.

"I can't _believe_ this," Dean said incredulously.

_I know the feeling, but it was something I was trying to brace myself for, and it's happened._

"And are you _ready_?" Dean asked.

_Hell no_, Caleb said, with a small laugh. _It will be alright, Dean. I believe that, and I need you to, too._

"It's kind of hard right now."

Everything in their lives had continued to screw them over—if it wasn't Jim dying, it was Sam being taken, and now Caleb going on trial for the second time in their lives, and for something that wasn't even his _fault. _

_I know—Dawn is planning a strategy as we speak. If it's good, and the jury buys it, we could have a serious chance at winning this. _

"Yeah," Dean said with a hopeless shrug. "How does she plan on beating the kidnapping one?"

_She's going to bring up the argument that the person that took Sam, is still out there and I was only trying to protect you two from the chance of being taken again. _

Dean nodded, bringing his shirt up to his eyes. "Okay. I love you."

_I love you, too. Let me talk to Sam._

"Okay."


	25. Chapter 25

Dean hung the phone up in a perpetual state of shock. It didn't seem _possible_ to him that, for the second time in their lives, they would have to live through the agony of seeing someone they loved, go on trial for something that he didn't even _do. _Shaking his head slowly in disbelief, he let his body fall back against the counter, as he struggled to breathe through the torrent of panic that he could feel bubbling close to the surface.

He hated crying—he hated the 'out of control feeling' it gave him, but as the tears poured down his cheeks, he actually felt a _release_ of sorts, as he _let _them come. It wasn't fair that he and Sam were supposed to lose another person, it wasn't fair that a judge and jury assumed they could just rip another person out of their lives.

The pain he felt at Caleb's absence was so strong _now—_he couldn't imagine what the pain would be like if the worst possible outcome happened, and he was convicted of the most serious offense of kidnapping, some fantasy charge that the prosecution had drummed up to make the other charges stick.

The preliminary hearing had all been about making sure there was enough evidence to seal Caleb's fate to trial, but Dean knew that in order to win the case in front of the jury, they would have to prove intent, they would have to prove that he acted maliciously, and not out of the love and concern that his family knew was the _truth_.

It made Dean _sick _to know that people honestly thought he was a monster, someone who would hurt he and Sam, and then kidnap them and take them out of the state in an attempt to flee from prosecution.

If only those idiots knew the _real _truth.

"Dean?"

Turning his back to Sam in an attempt to regain control over his fractured emotions _before _they got the best of him, he waited until he was relatively sure he was under control, before turning back to face his little brother again.

"Yeah, Sam?" he said, as he swiped an arm across his bright red nose, a product of the endless amount of tears he had expelled since his phone call with Caleb had ended.

"What does all this mean?" Sam whispered, as he took a seat at the counter where Dean had placed himself in a rare moment of solidarity, as he tried to process what the trial would mean for all of them, in his grief-wracked mind.

"What does all _what _mean?" Dean asked, although he _knew _what Sam was talking about, and it clawed at his heart in ways that his brother would have no idea of.

"The stuff with Caleb," Sam said quietly, perhaps sensing what a touchy subject that was for his big brother. "He said that he was going on trial. Why?"

"Because a judge thought that there was prob—that there was probable cause to believe that he did what they're _saying_ he did." The words were horrifying, even to _him_. How could those people think he abused them when there had never been any evidence to show it?

"That he abused us?" Sam asked quietly.

"And that he _kidnapped _us." That was the one charge that Dean was the most concerned about. It would be easier for a prosecutor to prove that when Caleb _had _fled after being ordered to turn them over to CPS.

"So when does he go on trial?"

"In a few weeks."

At least they wouldn't have to wait as long for the trial. In some ways, it would be a relief to know what was going to happen before too long, but in most other ways, Dean was completely unprepared for it, as he absently grabbed a soda bottle from the fridge, and took a long and comforting pull from it.

"Are we going to go?" Sam asked, after a minute of silent contemplation.

"To where?"

"The trial."

"I doubt it—Bobby and Caleb probably won't want us there."

"Why not?" Sam asked, quirking his eyebrow in that adorable way of his when he was questioning something that didn't _quite _make sense to him.

"_Because_," Dean said with a scoff. "The dick prosecutor will be running his mouth about stuff that isn't even _true _about Caleb, and they won't want us to hear that." It had been the same argument that Dean had come up against before, when his murder trial had happened.

"Like, lies?" Sam said, looking down as he tried to work through the rare show of sadness that he was feeling. Usually he was such a bright and optimistic kid, but ever since Caleb had gone, he had begun to see just how dark and cruel the world could be, and how much loss surrounded he and his family.

"Yeah," Dean said, as he distracted himself from answering further by taking another drink of his soda. "Lies." It wasn't even the DA's _fault_—they only knew what they could see with their own eyes, and that was that Caleb had directly defied a court order, and had committed a serious crime in the process.

"And what happens if he gets convicted-"

"You know what."

A probable life sentence for the most serious offense of kidnapping—and that was what Dean couldn't even bear to imagine, as he hopped off his chair and took to pacing across the floor to quell the anxiousness that was brewing inside his heart.

"Hey," Bobby said, as he walked into the kitchen. "What are you two talking about?"

"Caleb's trial," Sam said softly, as he looked at the devastated expression on Dean's face, as he furiously swiped his fingers across his eyes.

"That will be hard," Bobby agreed, as he placed a hand on the crook of Dean's arm, trying to place some level of comfort on the heartbroken kid, but he wasn't _too_ surprised when Dean ended up pulling away from the unwanted touch. "Dean, what are you thinking about all this?" he asked carefully, knowing what a phobia Dean had about expressing any kind of emotion.

"Not a thing," Dean said flippantly, his defense mechanism against the unbearable agony he was going through right then, as he gritted his teeth against showing what he was _really _feeling.

"Come on, Dean."

"Bobby, don't," Dean said, closing his eyes as those maddening tears squeezed out. "Not now."

"Okay," Bobby agreed quietly, not wanting to push it with him when he was so crushed. "Later, though, okay?"

"Fine," Dean said, his voice breaking. "I don't _care_."

"He's upset about Caleb," Sam said, his own eyes downcast as he looked at Bobby. "I am, too."

"I know you are," Bobby said, opening his arms for Sam when he wanted to give him a hug. "Come on Dean, join in."

"No."

"Dean-"

"You said _later_, Bobby," Dean reminded him. "It isn't later yet."

"Okay," Bobby said softly, as he rubbed Sam's back soothingly. "I think we might go back to Minnesota in a little bit."

"For the trial?" Sam asked, as he traded unsure looks with Dean.

It had been awhile since they had been back to Minnesota—not since before Caleb's arrest—and while it would be nice to return home to the sanctuary and familiarity of home, the purpose would definitely serve a more solemn note.

"Yeah," Bobby said, "I think it would be good instead of me leaving you two boys here alone every single day." And it would also save him the trouble of commuting several hours each way every day, when he and the boys could stay in Minnesota for the few weeks the trial would happen.

"Yeah," Sam said in agreement. "I can see my friends, then."

"Maybe. Dean, what do you think about going back?"

Dean shrugged—he knew that Bobby was trying to engage him and get him to open up about his feelings, but he wasn't falling for the bait yet. It was too painful to verbalize the absolutely gut-wrenching, and impossible.

"Dean, come _on_," Sam said. "Won't it be nice to go home for a little bit?"

"Maybe," Dean finally said, his voice cracked.

"We don't have to if you don't want to," Bobby said carefully, sensing how fragile the situation was.

"It's fine."

It _would _be nice to be closer to Caleb—even if they were still cut off from each other.

"Okay."

Dean held off on talking about his feelings for the rest of the afternoon—the way he avoided Bobby and Sam, was to simply close himself off in his room. It was easier to deal with it when he had the privacy to do so, and he took full advantage of that, as he laid down on his bed, and tried to forget the horrific fact that his guardian was going on trial again.

As he tucked his arm under his head, and sniffled back the irksome tears that seemed bound and determined to torment him, he tried to imagine, for his own sanity, a good outcome for this trial. It was a long-shot, but it was the one that was his only hope of surviving through this experience in one piece.

"Dean?" Bobby called through the closed door. "Caleb's on the phone."

"Okay, be right out."

Straightening up and making sure to brush as many of the tears away as he could, Dean finally emerged from his dark room, and took the phone from Bobby. Waiting until Bobby had left the room to give them some privacy, he took a deep breath before putting the phone up to his ear.

"H-hey," he said, not able to hide the break in his voice.

_Hey, kiddo. What's up? _Caleb said softly.

"Crap," Dean said bluntly, as he brought two fingers up the bridge between his eyes and nose to squeeze more of the waterworks from his eyes.

_I can sympathize. What's going on specifically, though?_

"It's just hitting me _really_ hard today. Like, yesterday when you told me, it didn't hit me as hard. I think I was in shock or something."

_I remember when the judge handed down the decision, and I remember not being able to feel _anything_ for a few seconds, and then I could feel myself crying a little bit, and it hit me like a ton of dump trucks._

Dean nodded, gritting his teeth in a last ditch effort to gain control of himself. If there was one person he could lose it with, it would be Caleb, but he knew it wouldn't help anything. It wouldn't grant Caleb his release, and it wouldn't stop the trial from happening, either.

"Yeah. Bobby said something about going back to Minnesota for your trial."

_I know—he and I talked about it this morning. What do you think?_

Dean shrugged, as he cradled the phone between his shoulder and ear. "I _want _to go back. I still_ have_ good memories of home, but it's just everything _there _lately, has been bad."

Minnesota had been his home for many years—and even though so much bad had recently happened—Dean still had had many years where it wasn't like that, where everything was calm and uncomplicated.

_It _was _good, wasn't it? _Caleb said softly, and Dean could almost _see_ the smile on his face.

"Yeah."

_I talked to Sammy a few minutes ago—he's pretty excited about going back._

"Yeah, I bet," Dean said, shaking his head in amusement. "He wants to see his friends."

_That's what he said—he seemed pretty intent on that._

Dean nodded, smiling. "Yeah, I know. So what else is Dawn saying?"

_Nothing new, really. We were just going over our strategy, and seeing if it has a chance of holding up in front of a jury or not. _

"So what comes first? The opening arguments or jury selection?"

_The jury selection comes first—and then right after that, the trial starts. _

"Oh, okay."

_Listen, I got to go. Can I call you tomorrow?_

"Sure."

_Alright, I love you. _

"Yep. Love you, too."


	26. Chapter 26

Even though Dean knew that Bobby wanted to talk to him that night, get him to open up about the feelings that he had been trying so valiantly to suppress, he resisted it. It was almost impossible to put into words how much he missed Caleb, and how the the very thought of what had happened to him, made him sick to his stomach.

It was much easier for him to quietly process all the hits that came their way without actually verbalizing what he was feeling. It was easier for him to go someplace quiet and lick his wounds without having to spill his heart out like a freakin' girl.

Especially with something like this—something that was so heartbreaking for him to go through—for the second time in their lives, he would have to live through seeing Caleb go on trial for something that he hadn't even done, and be faced with the prospect of losing yet another person in their ever-growing list of people.

It was impossible to divulge those kinds of feelings to anyone—even someone who knew him so well like Bobby did. It wasn't something that most people had the displeasure of going through, and so for him to attempt to explain what he was going through, he didn't think he had it in him.

Laying solitary in his room after dinner, trying to avoid the inevitable discussion that he knew Bobby was angling to have with him, as he tried to busy his mind with one of the many comic books he had taken to collecting. It was something that, for at least a few minutes, dulled the pain he was going through, and he would do anything if it meant getting a few moments of that blessed peace.

"Hey," Bobby said, as he ventured into the darkened room.

"Hey," Dean said, as he glanced over at Bobby, as he finally put his reading material aside, dreading the conversation that he knew Bobby wanted the two of them to have, and also trying to find a way to dissuade him from bringing up that unwanted topic. "What's up?"

"Not too much," Bobby replied easily, as he took a seat on Dean's desk chair, trying to give him the personal space that was so important to him, even more so _now_ when everything in his life was so dark and unpredictable right then. "I was wondering what you were thinking about everything?"

Dean shrugged. "Listen, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but I can't talk about this. I wouldn't even know where to _start _with it." It was the truth—his brain was so chock-full of different emotions and feelings, that sorting through them now, would be nearly impossible for him to accomplish.

"That's true," Bobby said, nodding. "It all feels like too much, doesn't it?"

"Yeah," Dean said with a nod, as he raised his hand to his face to wipe more of the moisture away. "I can tell you that I'm _sick_ of crying." It seemed like ever since Caleb's arrest, that was all that he had been doing, and he hated it.

"I can understand that. What do you think about going back home?"

"For the trial?" Dean asked quietly, trying to ignore the horrible feeling that he got whenever the issue of Caleb's trial came up.

"Yeah."

"I don't know—it would make more sense to be there than for you to travel all that way back and forth."

It would make _much_ more sense logistically and in every other way if they stayed in Minnesota for the few weeks that Caleb's trial would go on. It would save Bobby a several hours long commute back and forth each day, and would also alleviate most of their fears at being separated from one another during such a crucially critical time for them.

"That's right—and I would be able to be with you boys a _lot_ more, and not have to drive all that distance back and forth." Even though the safe house was _safe_ for the boys to be in, Bobby still didn't hold a lot of confidence in leaving them over long stretches of time by themselves.

"Yeah," Dean said, nodding, biting down on his thumb. "If we were to go back, though, how safe would we be?"

One of the perks of living in South Dakota, was that the place they were in, Bobby had built with iron surrounding it, and different wards and sigils to guard against any of the demons that planned on taking another chunk out of their family.

"When CPS was first making their case," Bobby explained, as he leaned foreword to address the issue with the thirteen-year-old. "I went ahead of you guys, and installed some of the wards."

"You _did_?"

"Yeah—so some of the security we have on _this _house, we'll also have on on your house back home."

"Good."

"Do you _want _to go?" Bobby pressed, clearly sensing an issue with the idea of leaving, and he wanted to make sure that Dean was on the same page as he and Sam were about going.

"Yeah. I want to be closer to Caleb while all this is happening. There's just a _lot _there that brings up bad memories, and it will be hard to have to deal with all that stuff."

"That's very true—with Jim dying, and now Caleb."

Dean nodded, his hazel eyes momentarily shining with tears, before he expertly hid them away. "Yeah. I know Sam's excited about going."

"Oh, yes," Bobby said with a chuckle. "He's already talking about wanting to go back to school, and reconnect with his buddies."

"Typical," Dean said, shaking his head in faint amusement. "When do you want to go?"

"Tomorrow?"

"Sure."

* * *

Walking through their house after so long away from it, Dean tried to ignore the keening sense of loss that permeated every single room in their home. The kitchen that had once been home to so many games and family meetings, was the last place he had seen Jim alive.

Swallowing back the unexpected lump in the back of his throat when the memory of Jim was brought up, he forged ahead in his quiet inspection of the place, as his hand ran over the smooth surface of the counter, as he walked to the immediate right into the family room.

Nothing had changed—the same family pictures were still hanging proudly on the walls—and the same large screen television and recliners were stationed there. It was _home_ in the truest sense of the word, and yet all that Dean associated with it now, was pain and loss.

Shaking his head, trying to rid himself of those unwelcome, intrusive thoughts, he turned and went up the stairs. Pausing outside of Jim's closed bedroom door, he hesitantly pushed the door open. It had remained closed for so long after his death, and when they had finally been able to emotionally stand it, they had packed up some of his things.

The last stop on his personal tour, was his and Sam's respective bedrooms. They had long ago stopped sharing a room, and instead had settled for having their own rooms right next to each other. His room was the same, slightly messy one that he had left it in, and that was comforting to him, as he dropped his duffel bag on the bed.

Sam's room was the orderly, neat one that he had come to expect from his little brother—Sam was downstairs with Bobby still—he hadn't had the chance to come upstairs and inspect everything like his brother was doing now.

Sighing once he had finally finished his personal tour, he went back downstairs to join Bobby and Sam. They were seated around the island counter. Bobby was dishing out the pizza that he had gotten on the way there, and Sam was busy stuffing his face full of the delicious food.

"Hey," Bobby said, looking up when Dean finally entered the room. "We were wondering what you were doing."

"Just looking around," Dean said with a shrug, as he settled himself between his brother and Bobby.

It had been over six weeks since he had last stepped foot inside their house—not since before Caleb's arrest—when the decision had been made to make a run for the safe house.

"It's been awhile since you boys have been here," Bobby said, looking between Sam and his brother.

"Yeah," Sam said, "it feels good to be back, though. Are we going to stay after the trial is over?"

"I don't know—how about we take that one day at a time?"

"Okay."


	27. Chapter 27

Dean _knew_ that Sam wanted to go back to school, but he resisted that idea as much as he could. If it wasn't for their school, none of this would be happening to Caleb, and they wouldn't be in the position that they were in now. Sam, to his knowledge, didn't know that their principal had ratted them out, and he wasn't sure he wanted to shatter the cheerful, happy illusion that his brother had of that place.

Still, it was hard _not _to say anything, as Sam wandered into the kitchen, chattering happily about all the things he wanted to do with his friends, and how he wanted to audition for a school play that he had somehow found out about.

Gritting his teeth in frustration, Dean bent his head low as he focused on eating the food he had made himself for breakfast. Bobby had gone to the jail to see Caleb, the first visit since they had been back, and while he would have loved to have gone to see him, he knew that for one, he probably _wouldn't _be able to handle the sight of his guardian in chains, and for another, he didn't want to leave Sam.

"Miss Stacey said that _all _the kids could audition," Sam was saying, as he rambled on about the play he wanted to try out for. "And if I'm _lucky_, maybe I could get a part in-"

"Sam," Dean said, finally having heard enough, as he turned to his little brother. "Has Bobby _said _that you could go back yet?" Even though Sam had approached the the issue with Bobby, the hunter hadn't given his permission for them to go back yet, and had informed Sam that he would consider it.

"No," Sam admitted, "but if I _can _go back, I'm going to try out. The auditions run for the next month at _least_." Besides being a whiz at soccer, Sam also loved trying out for the occasional school play when he was allowed to.

It was something that Dean held absolutely _no _interest in, but he indulged his brother, and always showed up to support him, but things were different now. The stakes would be raised now if he went back, the school officials who he had once trusted, would be on the lookout, he knew, for any other signs of abuse.

"That will be cool," Dean said noncommittally, as he busied himself with putting the plates in the sink to wash.

"Dean, don't _you _want to go back?" Sam asked quietly, sensing how touchy the subject was for his brother, and not completely understanding _why_.

"No, I don't."

"But why _not_?" It was hard to understand why his brother wouldn't want to see his friends, and get that incomparable wealth of knowledge that he was able to get from his teachers and staff.

"Because," Dean said. "_They _were the ones who made the first call to CPS."

"What's CPS-"

"Child Protective Services. They were the ones who called them and told them about my arm, and it was _our_ principal." Before all the drama had started, their principal had been a man that Dean had gotten along with, had even gone to and talked to about some of the problems he was having with his friends, or a particular subject in class.

It was someone he felt like he could confide in about some of the issues he was having, and that man had completely betrayed him by reporting Caleb to CPS, when he had seen nothing to indicate abuse or neglect, other than a few bruises that they could have explained away, had they been given the chance.

"He..._did_?" Sam whispered, clearly having _not_ been privy to that information before. "But _why_? Because of your arm?"

"Yeah. He saw that horrible bruise, and thought we were being abused."

"Why didn't he just ask Caleb?"

"That's the million dollar question," Dean said, as he distracted himself by taking a long walk around the table, trying to work through the ugly emotions that he could feel simmering below the surface. "And he was Caleb's friend, too, and he completely threw him under the bus when he did that."

Before, when there had been a problem with Dean or Sam, Caleb and the principal would always work it out together, somehow. Knowing that the man had taken matters into his own hands, and had reported them, instead of just simply picking up the phone and calling Caleb, made Dean infuriated.

"I just want to see my friends," Sam began quietly, not knowing how he was supposed to feel now. If he went back, he would feel like he was betraying Caleb by associating with the place that had started his legal nightmare in the courts, and if he didn't go back, he would miss out on seeing the friends he loved so much.

"You can _still _see them _without _going back to school," Dean pointed out.

"That's true, I guess."

"Whatever Bobby decides, it will be okay."

It would be more difficult to have friends over to the house when they would be more prone to see something they weren't supposed to, but it was something they had done for years and nothing had happened so far.

* * *

Dawn came over the next day to speak with Bobby and Dean. While Dean had only met her once or twice in passing, he had never before sat down with her and had an actual conversation with her. She was nice, someone who was easy to talk and get along with.

"So you're Dean," she said, once Bobby had led them into the living room where they could converse more comfortably.

"Last time I checked," he said with a teasing grin.

"Funny," she said, laughing once. "_I _have heard a _lot _about you."

Especially recently with the charges that had been brought against Caleb—the charges that she was trying _so_ hard to beat, but was in an impossible situation with the overwhelming evidence of his guilt where it concerned the kidnapping charge, and a prosecutor that was out for blood.

"You _have_?"

"I have," she confirmed. "So how are you doing?"

According to Caleb, Dean didn't really cozy up to strangers right away, and she knew that she would have to work a little to gain his trust, before exploring the issues that she had, and how he would potentially help her.

"Alright," Dean replied noncommittally.

"Yeah," she said, nodding in understanding. "All this, it's crazy."

"You can say that."

"Where's Sam?"

"He's sleeping," Bobby said, shaking his head in amusement. "The kid was up _all_ night last night."

"He was?"

"Yeah," Dean said, laughing. "He made a bet with me that I couldn't stay up all night, and when I _did_, he missed it because he was knocked out on the couch."

"Oh, I see. He wanted to show his big brother that he-"

"That he could stay up all night, too, and he lost," Dean said smugly.

"I can see that. So what else is new?"

"Sam wants to go back to school," Dean said, staring down at his hands, which where clasped loosely around each other.

"And what do _you _think about that idea?" Dawn asked, as she traded glances with Bobby.

"I don't want to go back."

"Why not?"

"_Because_," Dean said with a scoff, feeling himself open up to her a little bit more. "Caleb was _friends _with our principal, and that guy completely screwed him over, and now look where he is."

Thinking those thoughts wasn't entirely conducive to having a sane conversation with her—and with that in mind, he tried his hardest to put those thoughts away so he could deal with them later.

"I know it must be hard," she said. "I'm doing _everything _in my power to make this go away, but it will be tricky."

"Why? Because of the kidnapping charge?"

"Yeah," she admitted slowly, "and the abuse charges. There isn't conclusive evidence that directly links him to those marks, but it will be hard to make a believable case to a jury, when they're only human, and these kinds of cases, historically have a much bigger impact on juries when it concerns kids."

Dean nodded. "I can see where that would be sucky."

"Yeah," she said with a laugh. "It is."

"So..."

"I was thinking," Dawn said thoughtfully. "If I needed you to do this, would you testify at the trial, maybe?"

"_Seriously_?" Dean said incredulously, trading unsure looks with Bobby.

"Seriously," she confirmed. "If you feel uncomfortable doing it, I'll completely understand, but it's a thought that I had."

"I _do _want to," Dean said.

He would love the chance to go up on the stand and throw everything back in the prosecutor's face, and win Caleb the acquittal that he _knew _he deserved, but he had serious concerns about _his _ability to effectively communicate the _truth _when he would be so nervous.

"_But_?" Dawn prompted, sensing an underlining 'but' in the issue.

"What if I screw things up more than they're _already _screwed up?" It was a valid concern he had. Whatever he said under oath, on the stand, would be heavily scrutinized by the prosecution, and what if he fumbled like Sam did?

"If you do this and I decide I need you to testify," she said, "I'll come over ahead of time and not necessarily _coach _you on what to say, but I'll give you a general idea of the kind of questions you'll be asked, and then you can have time to prepare yourself a little."

"Okay. So how is he?"

"Caleb?" she asked softly, knowing from hearing Caleb talk about it, how close the two were.

"Yeah."

"He's alright—he's nervous, understandably, about the trial, but he's doing okay all things considered."

"Good."

At least that could be one worry off his already overwrought mind. It had been something that had gnawed at his heart for weeks, and it was a relief to know that he was holding up fairly well.

"So do you have any questions?"

"No, not really."

"Alright, well I'm always here to answer any if you have them."

"Thank you."


	28. Chapter 28

**Three Weeks Later**

It was hard to believe, even for Caleb, that he had been in lockup for two months. The jury selection—the last stopping point before the trial—had been completed that day. A team of twelve men and women had been selected to try the case that had been hanging over his head for the last few months, and a decision that would be handed down that would either set him free, or doom him to a lifetime of torment behind bars.

In some ways, it would be a relief to know, within weeks, what his fate would be. If it would, miraculously, go their way and he would be granted the freedom that he had sorely craved, or if they would make the _wrong _choice, and seal his fate in the cruelest of ways.

"So what do you think about the team we have?" Caleb asked, as he forcibly stared at Dawn, trying to ignore everything else around him, as he tried to imagine a world where he wasn't in handcuffs every time he had to move somewhere, or where he didn't have to sleep on a mattress that was under a slab of concrete.

"Good," Dawn said, nodding. "I think we have as good a jury pool as we could hope for."

It had taken nearly the entire day to interview and select candidates based off what they're answers were to the questions that both sides had presented to them. In an effort to keep things running as fast (and smoothly) as possible, Dawn had pushed for the proceedings to be over with _that _day, and had been successful.

"It's hard to tell based on looks alone, right?"

"Right. They could swing either way, but the most crucial thing we accomplished, is that we selected a fair and impartial jury." It was anyone's guess what they would decide with the evidence given to them, but the most important thing, was that they had people they were confident in.

"Right," Caleb said with a sigh, shaking his head. "I can tell you I'll be glad to have this entire nightmare over with." His mind wouldn't allow him to process the notion that it would continue after this, that the jury would vote _against_ him.

"I bet," she said, smiling sympathetically. "Our goal will be to end this as quickly as possible, but obviously after we've done our job."

"So what comes next?"

Over the last two months, he had been subjected to hearing after countless hearing in his case, and when it came to the confusing web of courtroom protocol, he was clueless as to what _exactly_ came next for him.

"Opening arguments."

"And what are you going to aim for when you present _your_ case?"

It didn't take an idiot to know that an opening argument was when the defense and prosecution had their strongest chance of winning over a jury. It was nerve-wracking to know that, in some cases, a jury would already make up their minds based on the opening argument _alone_. The pressure on Caleb was high, but he couldn't _imagine_e what Dawn was going through as she tried to craft an argument that would shed doubt on the DA's theories, while clearing him of the ludicrous charges against him.

Dawn paused before phrasing her next reply. "Anytime you present an opening argument, whether you're the defense or the prosecution, you're telling a story to the jury. In the prosecution's case, they want to craft a plot where _you're_ the antagonist."

Caleb rolled his eyes, shaking his head. "That's not too surprising."

"And," she said, smiling at his comment. "When I present _my_ case, you're going to play the role of _protagonist_." It was a story that she would have to write, edit and _re_-edit before she got the chance to present it in front of a courtroom full of the people who would decide her friend and client's fate.

"Do you know what the prosecution is going to say?"

"Just the bare minimum—that you willfully and unlawfully caused the bruising on Dean's arm, and that you committed kidnapping when you were ordered to surrender them over to CPS."

"And you think the prosecution has a good case with the kidnapping one?"

Out of all the abuse and neglect charges he was facing, the kidnapping one was the charge that would be the toughest to beat, and the one that would either seal his fate, or release him from it.

"It's impossible to tell. They definitely have the law on their side when it concerns something like that, but it's all about how a jury perceives what they're being told."

"Okay."

It was hard to realize that there was nothing he could do to sway them either way—there was no way he could waltz over to them and proclaim his innocence face to face, he would have to let the evidence speak for itself, and the testimony of those Dawn called to defend him.

"I talked to Dean, by the way."

Dawn had broached the issue of whether or not they should have Dean testify for Caleb at the trial, and while Caleb hadn't been opposed to it, and had told her to go ahead and ask him, it would still be difficult to watch him face so much opposition and ridicule from a prosecution that seemed intent on seeing him suffer.

"What did he say?"

"I told him what I was thinking, and he wants to do it if I need him. I don't plan on calling him unless I absolutely have to."

"Do you think you _will_ need him?"

"Probably, but it all depends on how strong of a case that the prosecution presents first."

"I hate that you can't do yours first."

In the hierarchy of defense and prosecution lawyers, the prosecution had the highest burden of proving beyond a reasonable doubt, and so they were the ones who were allowed to go first in the courtroom to present their case.

Dawn was allowed to go next.

It was a process that he had become well acquainted with when he had gone through his murder trial. It had been torturous then to wait for her to present their case, and he was sure that the same panic and fear would still be there for this, too.

"I know," she said with a grimace, "but from what I heard, they don't plan on taking any longer than necessary, so it shouldn't be too long before I can do mine."

"Good."

* * *

"Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you going to be okay this morning?" Bobby asked, as he got his things ready to go to the courthouse for the start of the opening arguments. It was one of the downfalls of the boys not being in school, they would have to be alone at the house that day.

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" Dean asked, as he carefully hid his crestfallen expression over the rim of his cereal bowl.

In truth, he was devastated. The knowledge that, for the second time in his life, he would have to live through seeing someone he adored, go on trial for something he didn't even _do_, was heart-wrenching for him, and even though he would have preferred being there in person, he knew it wouldn't entirely be possible.

"I just know that all this has been hard on you. Caleb, and then coming home."

"It's been fine," Dean said, avoiding Bobby's probing gaze the best he could.

"I'm going to be checking in during lunch—maybe I'll bring you guys some sandwiches or something."

"Whatever," Dean said, turning away from him.

"Dean-"

"I'm fine. Where's Sam?"

"Still sleeping."

"How long is this hearing supposed to last? All day?"

"Probably."

Dean nodded, using the sleeve of his shirt to expertly shield the tears that seemed bound and determined to stay and torture him. "Okay."

* * *

Walking into the courtroom, Caleb was sure that he had never felt more sick in his entire life than he did as the bailiff led him to his place at the defense table before retreating. The fact that he would have to sit through at least an hour or two of the prosecution spouting their crap, wasn't lost on him, and he dreaded it.

"How are you doing?" Dawn whispered.

"Crappy."

"Just hang in there—we'll have our turn soon enough."

And she was right—the prosecution's opening lasted two hours, and provided a basic summary of the amount of evidence against him, and how it related to the charges. The most difficult to prove would be the abuse charges, and so the prosecutor spent most of his time working on that.

"You have a few bruises," prosecutor Mark Williamson said, shrugging. "They aren't _too_ bad. Just minor little bumps and cuts that could have come from anywhere, and then it gets more serious over a steady period of time."

With the judge's permission, the prosecutor displayed several photographs of Dean's arm in varying stages of bruising. The first several pictures depicted nothing but minor little scrapes like the prosecution said, and then they got more serious, and it made Caleb want to throw up when he knew what this man was getting at.

"And then you have the most serious," he finished, his voice lowering in a display of sympathy for the alleged victim. "The one that caused bruising so severe that when he went to school the next morning, he wasn't able to lift his arm.

The evidence that we will present to you, will prove to you that the man sitting in this room, Caleb Rivers, was the instigator, and he was the one to cause these marks."

Caleb shook his head; he couldn't help it. These untrue and hurtful allegations had the potential of costing him his life, and rendering him incapable of being a part of Sam and Dean's lives. As he sat next to Dawn, trying desperately to control himself, he turned briefly in his seat, and saw the same, incredulous look on Bobby's face.

"Watch it," Dawn warned, seeing how upset he was getting.

"I can't help it."

"You have to _try_."

"I know."

After he finished his opening, it was Dawn's turn to take the floor. This time, Caleb didn't hold nearly the same amount of dread, as he leaned foreword in his seat to listen to what she had to say.

"First of all," Dawn said, as she paced the floor slowly. "I want to thank these men and women for sacrificing their time to be here. I promise you that our goal is to make these proceedings, as quick and easy as possible."

After that, she lunged into her story.

"This all started with two boys, Sam and Dean Winchester. Two young, impressionable boys who lost their parents in very tragic circumstances. They didn't have any other family to raise them, and so Caleb Rivers and Jim Murphy stepped in, and over the last eight or nine years, they have raised them and molded them into the sweet, loving and generous boys that _I _have been privileged to meet."

Caleb couldn't help the small smile that crept across his face at her words. It was true, all of it. They had only raised the boys with the deepest sense of morals and empathy for people, and the hunting that they had dabbled in, had only aided them in feeling that sympathy and love for others.

"These are two boys that have never shown any of the classic signs of abuse. You have marks," she said, diving into the heart of her defense. "But you don't have a sign hanging over their necks saying that he did it. In fact, when you talk to Dean, all he can talk about is how much he loves Caleb, how much the two have bonded over the years, and how the thought of what is happening to Caleb, makes him _sick_."

That was also true—the boys never went to school with marks on them—and the one time that they had, was the time that had also started this entire nightmare.

"The state," she said, "wants to prove that the marks on Dean's arm, were not only the cause of being hit or punched, but the severity of the injury was so severe that he couldn't move his arm. As I recall perfectly, Dean, in his initial interview with Diane Ward, stated that he was able to move his arm without a problem.

There has never been any evidence that directly links my client to those bruises. They could have come from another kid, they could have come from playing outside, but if you have a shred of doubt in your mind, then your job is simple, set this man free."

Caleb could feel himself nodding in direct response to her words. The jury had a moral obligation of setting him free if there was even a shred of reasonable doubt, and he knew that if she continued with the same pace that she had set, they would have no choice but to acquit him.

"In regards to the kidnapping. Around two or three months previously, Sam Winchester was taken by an unknown person or persons from his school. The incident was enough to completely traumatize and shock he and Dean, including Caleb, and when these ridiculous charges were brought against him, he panicked and did what he felt like he had to do to protect them from being let out of his sight, and that action may have been made without the best of judgment, but was that decision made to harm them? Or was it made to do what he could to save them?"


	29. Chapter 29

Dean wasn't entirely sure how he managed to stay _sane_ throughout the day, while he and Sam waited for Bobby to come home. It was the first day of opening arguments in Caleb's trial, and while this was a rodeo that he had ridden before, this time he knew the stakes had been raised higher. There were more charges to beat, and the consequences for each, incomparable.

Bobby checked in with them periodically throughout the day, but hadn't been able to give them a clear-cut explanation of what had happened during the proceedings, and what evidence both sides had presented. It was nerve-wracking for Dean, who was on edge the entire day as a result.

He couldn't even _imagine_ what would happen if Caleb was convicted. He knew that Caleb would probably have to go to prison, probably for the rest of his life, but that was a thought that Dean couldn't even _fathom_, so he tried his hardest _not_ to.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Sam?" he asked, swiveling his head around to glance at his little brother, as he laid still on the sofa in the living room.

"Bobby's back."

"He _is_?"

"Yeah. He just pulled in."

Finally he would get the answers that he had been craving to hear from the older hunter, as he and Sam beat a path to the back garage door where Bobby would walk in from. As promised, he had brought goodies home for dinner, but for once, Dean wasn't interested in the food as Bobby started doling it out to them.

"So what happened?" Dean asked quietly, not entirely sure he _wanted_ to hear the answer, as he studied Bobby closely for his reaction.

"Well, both sides presented their arguments."

Sometimes, in major cases like this one, the opening arguments could encompass two or three days, but they had managed to finish it _that_ day. It was a relief to Bobby, and he knew to Caleb, that they wouldn't have to sit through more drawn-out testimony from the sadistic prosecutor.

"And they're finished?" Dean prompted, as he exchanged uneasy looks with Sam.

It would be a relief to have that part of the trial done with already, but it would only draw them closer to the conclusion, and Dean wasn't sure he would be able to accept whatever the jury came up with, especially if it was the worst possible outcome.

"They are. The prosecution took the longest, I would say, but that was because he kept rambling on about crap that didn't even matter," Bobby said, shaking his head in disgust. "Dawn kept hers simple and to the point, and from what I could tell from the jury, they were paying attention."

"To _her_?"

"Yes."

That was good—it showed that the jury had already picked a tentative side they were interested in—and had showed that interest by paying special attention to her when she spoke. It wasn't enough to ease the crippling fears from Dean's mind. Far from it, but it was still a positive sign in the right direction.

"So what _crap_ did the prosecution spout out?" Dean asked, wrapping his arms around his chest. Partially to keep himself under control, partially to keep the pain that he could feel bubbling inside, under close wraps.

"Just the same junk we've been hearing all along," Bobby said. "That he caused those bruises, that there was evidence to support it-"

"And _did_ he?" Dean prompted, shaking his head in astonishment. "Did that _idiot_ bring forth any evidence to link him?"

"No, but-"

"No," Dean said. "Of _course_ he didn't! Because there _isn't_ evidence!"

It made him so mad that a prosecutor, someone who was supposed to be good, someone who was supposed to defend the innocent and helpless, had gone _after_ someone who was innocent and undeserving of the crap being piled on his shoulders.

"Dean," Bobby said calmly. "Just listen, okay? You wanted to know."

"I know," Dean said, feeling himself simmer down in the slightest. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay. He said that he could prove there was evidence to support that the marks came from Caleb, but I don't think he'll prove anything. All he has are the bruises, and Caleb's own actions after the fact."

"You mean the-"

"When he allegedly 'kidnapped' you," Bobby said softly, using the term loosely.

"I can't _believe_ this. What did Dawn say to dispute it?"

Her competing opening argument, would possibly be the _one_ thing that would dispute the amount of evidence that the prosecution had against Caleb, and bring forth a peaceful resolution to a case that had haunted them for the past few months.

"There was no proof," Bobby said. "And that's what she said. If there was even a _shred_ of doubt in their minds, they had to acquit him."

Dean nodded, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Yeah, and so what did she say about the kidnapping one?"

Bobby sighed, shaking his head. "There was nothing she could do to necessarily _dispute_ the fact that he had taken you guys against their wishes, but she begged the jury to look past the crime and to look at the motives behind it."

"So what does that mean-" Dean demanded, feeling a sliver of panic creep into his heart again.

"It means we have to wait and see."

* * *

It had been such an emotionally exhausting day for Caleb. Having no choice but to sit and listen to what the prosecution had been saying about him, had been hard to bear. It was almost _impossible_ to sit and listen to that man, someone who was supposed to be on the side of _good_, spout out lie after lie about him, and not have a single care in the world about it, either.

Dawn had told him after the hearing had concluded for the day, that the basis for her defense would be that he hadn't caused the marks, that there had been no evidence to support what the prosecution was saying, and while he tried to have the same confidence that _she_ did in the matter, it was hard when, at every single turn, he had been shot down in some way.

Having Bobby in the courtroom for moral support, had been good. It had been nice to look at someone who didn't view him as a monster or an abuser, and it had been nice to know that he wasn't alone in any of this.

Still, getting the chance to talk to the boys after he had gotten back to the jail, had been the icing on a cake that had tasted pretty bitter until right then. Leaning against the wall, as he cradled the phone in his hand, he tried to plaster a smile on his face as he waited for Bobby to find Dean.

_Hey_, Dean said, as he finally came on the line. _How did it go today?_

"It went okay," Caleb replied truthfully. "They're saying a bunch of crap, but they have to actually have something to back it up."

_No surprise there, _Dean said with a scoff. _Bobby said that Dawn had a really good opening?_

"Yeah, she did. Mostly what the prosecutor did was strut around the room, and say that I was this horrible person who abused you and then tried to kidnap you, but he doesn't have any evidence except for the photographs."

_Is she concerned about those?_

"No," Caleb said, shaking his head. "They can't prove they came from me."

_Is that her _entire_ defense?_

"Yeah, but it's a good one. The jury has an obligation to render a verdict based on beyond a reasonable doubt, and if there's doubt in their minds, they have to acquit."

Of course, he doubted it would be that easy—it never was—but he had hope that the jury would be able to see past the wall of hatred and contempt the prosecution had for him, and focus on what Dawn was presenting to them.

_You think it will be that easy? _Dean asked, as though he had read his mind and what he was thinking.

"No," Caleb admitted, shaking his head. "Probably not, but in a few weeks, we'll know regardless."

_I—I can't think about that right now. Too depressing.  
_

Even though there was a strong chance that he would be able to come home after all was said and done, there was also an equally strong chance that the prosecution's side would win, especially with the kidnapping charge.

"Yeah," Caleb said softly, as he scrubbed a face over his hand. "I can understand that."

_So when is the prosecution's case going to be over? _

"Not for a little bit," Caleb said with a laugh. "I know, every time I see that arrogant ass strut his way around the room like he owns it, I want to punch in his face."

_Something tells me, _Dean said with a laugh, _that won't be allowed. _

"Unfortunately not," Caleb said with a tight smile. "So tell me what's new around there."

_Nothing—Sam really wants to go back to school still. There's this play that they're holding auditions for, and he wants to be a part of it._

Caleb nodded. He knew how important school was for Sam, and he wanted that for him, but not at the cost of their safety, and being able to remain in their custody. "So what does Bobby say about that?"

_He's thinking about it. It's iffy, but he's considering it._

"What do you think about it?"

Caleb knew that Dean was bound to have opinions on going back to the place that had kick started their entire nightmare, and he was curious to hear his take on it.

_I don't want to go back, _Dean said without hesitation. _Not when I'll have to face that principal every single day._

Caleb nodded, not able to deny the validity of Dean's statement. "Yeah, I can understand that."

The principal had been a good friend of Caleb's, and for him to start their nightmare, had been a bitter pill to swallow for him.

_I want Sam to be able to see his friends and everything, but I just don't feel comfortable going back with the knowledge of what this man has done to us. _

"Don't let that be a deciding factor," Caleb counseled. "He meant well in his own way, but I don't want you or Sam feeling like you can't go back because of where I am right now."

_It's kind of hard right now to separate the two from each other. I want to see my friends, but I don't want to have to go to that place and know that you're...you're...stuck in a jail cell because of them._

"I know," Caleb said softly. "And you have no idea how much I wish I could ditch this place, and be back with you and Sam, where I belong, but for right now, this is our reality."

_I know. It doesn't mean I have to like it or accept it. _


	30. Chapter 30

"State your name for the record."

It was the second day of the trial, and the first _full_ day without the added weight of opening arguments. The prosecution was still in the very beginning stages of presenting their case to a jury. Their first witness was the principal of the school, the one who had made the first call to CPS.

"Don Springer."

"What is your occupation?" Lead Prosecutor Mark Willamson asked, as he stopped his pacing momentarily to focus on his witness.

"I am a principal."

"Of?"

"Of Owatonna Christian School."

The name that tasted like salt in Caleb's mouth whenever he heard it. It had been an amazing school for the boys to be in, but that man and the teachers there, had completely ruined it for them with their careless attitude, and their rush to judgment that had resulted in his arrest.

"And how long have you been in that position?"

"Approximately twenty years, sir."

"Very well. How long have you known Sam and Dean Winchester?"

"About seven years."

The boys had been in another school in Blue Earth before they had moved to Steele County after the demon had broken into their previous house. This school, like the other one before that, had seemed, by all appearances, to be exceptional, and they had believed that until all this.

"When did you first start noticing bruise marks on Dean?"

"I can't give you an exact estimation, but about five or six months ago."

Caleb knew five or six months previously was when they had gone on the hunt together, and Dean had been grabbed in the arm by the spirit, thus unknowingly starting the nightmare they were in _now_ with the courts, and the legal system.

"Were they _this _serious?" Mark asked, showing him one of the photographs that had been taken of his arm. They weren't as serious as the one that had been reported by the principal, but it was taken right before that.

"No. I noticed those, and I took a mental note of it, but didn't report it."

"Why not?"

"I didn't see a reason to—I chalked it up to him rough housing with his friends, or taking a fall somewhere."

"What about this mark?" Mark prompted, showing the second photograph which depicted Dean's arm with the most severe mark, the one from the spirit, and the one which the case centered around.

Looking at it objectively, from the point of view of the prosecutor, Caleb could see where the mark _would_ look suspicious, but it still didn't directly point _to _him, and that's what made him mad.

"Yes," Don the principal said. "That was the mark I observed, and the one that I decided to report."

"So you saw these marks over a steady period of time, and didn't report them until you saw them getting progressively worse, correct?"

"Correct, and all of these marks happened after they had come back from a break of some kind. The latest mark came after the kids had had a spring break, and the other ones before that, had been in similar scenarios."

The implications were crushing for Caleb—the fact that the boys had allegedly been hit during school breaks so the bruises wouldn't be as prevalent on them—it was sickening to know that the prosecution would use that misguided testimony, and utilize it to mount a stronger case against him.

"When Dean came into school that morning, was he able to have any range of motion in that arm? Or did it appear that he was having difficulties using it?"

"I didn't see him for myself, but I was talking to his teachers and they _did _confirm that he _was _having problems using it to perform simple tasks like writing, or even raising it to ask a question."

Caleb shook his head in astonishment at the blatant lies that this man was saying about him. Someone he had once considered to be a _friend. _It was the most hurtful and heartbreaking betrayal that he could ever imagine from someone who he had once trusted.

"Liar," he whispered under his breath.

"What?" Dawn whispered back, as she leaned closer toward him to hear his answer.

"What kind of idiot would I have to be to send him to school if he couldn't move his damn _arm _like he's saying?" There was no way that he would have sent Dean to school if he had been having the kind of problems that the principal was describing.

"Did you call Dean into the office to see the injury for yourself?" the prosecutor asked.

"I did. I asked him if he was alright, and if his arm was okay, and he said it was."

"And again, you didn't see him move it well?"

"Correct."

"No further questions."

Relieved when that pompous, arrogant man finally sat down, Caleb leaned foreword in his seat when Dawn stood up to deliver her cross-examination of the witness. He knew that it would probably prove to be explosive, and he hoped that she would challenge everything that the prosecution had fed to the man, and the lies he had told about him.

"Is it true that you were once friends with the defendant?"

That would be a crucial question for him to answer—if he considered Caleb to be a friend, why wouldn't he just ask him where the bruises had come from instead of going to all the trouble of reporting him to CPS and starting a nightmare for everyone involved?

"I was, yes."

_Then why the _ hell _didn't you just come to me? _Caleb thought, shaking his head in disbelief, as he tried in vain to control himself in front of the jury who would be studying his every move.

"Then why," Dawn said, mirroring Caleb's exact thoughts. "Did you simply not pick up the phone and ask him where the bruises came from?"

"I didn't know _what_ to believe. The bruises combined with the absences, and the fact that he was getting increasingly hard to get a hold of, contributed to my calling CPS."

"Okay," Dawn said, "and did you ever see Caleb Rivers hit Sam or Dean Winchester?"

"No."

That was important—this man was saying he had suspected abuse, yet he had never actually _seen_ the boys, either of them, be mistreated by him, and of course, this man never would.

"Did you ever see him punch them?"

"No."

"Did you ever see him grab at them or smack or slap them?"

"No."

It was obvious Dawn had gotten him to admit what she wanted him to admit. "No further questions," she announced clearly, before walking back over and sitting down at the defense table.

"What did you think?" Caleb whispered quietly.

"I got him to fold," she said, shrugging. "There was never any proof that he saw that you abused them, and so him even making the call was ridiculous."

"I know."

There was a brief recess, before court resumed. This time, the prosecution put the teacher who had first seen Dean's arm, on the stand, and to Caleb's fury, she backed up what the principal had claimed, saying that she had found it difficult for him to move his arm, and that the significant bruising had first alerted her to there being a problem. It was the same story he had heard with the principal, and it made him furious.

The next witness was the police officer who had pulled them over. He had testified at the preliminary hearing, but it was his testimony that would prove to be crucial for the jury to hear for themselves, as he took the stand.

"How long have you been an officer?" Prosecutor Mark Williamson asked, as he focused intently on the man before him.

"Thirteen years."

"And what do your duties cover?"

"Making minor traffic stops in the county area, and carrying out warrants, that type of thing."

"And what were you doing on September 22 when you pulled over Caleb Rivers?"

Caleb found himself leaning foreword to hear what he had to say, knowing perfectly well what had happened, but wanting to know from the officer what his version of events were.

"At first it was a minor traffic stop. When I saw who was in the car, and the two kids, I recognized who they were, and remembered the APB that had been put out for the vehicle."

"What's an APB?" The prosecutor asked, clearly retaining that information for the court records, as well as for the jury to hear.

"All points bulletin. An alert comes out for a car or person, and we act on it when we see the suspected car or individual."

"What did you do then?"

"Followed proper procedure, instructed him to step out of the car so we could talk."

Caleb remembered that—remembered the feeling of panic and dread that had settled in his heart, as he followed the officer's orders and got out. It had been the most terrifying moment of his life, not for him, but for the boys, because he hadn't known what would happen to them if they took him.

"What was your conversation?" the prosecutor asked.

"I informed him of the court order against him, and told him that he had to surrender custody to the CPS offices."

"Where did you catch him?"

"Near Sioux Falls, South Dakota."

Outside the state showed not only serious intent, at least in their misguided eyes, to kidnap the boys, but to also flee with them. Feeling sick, Caleb momentarily bowed his head to regain control before looking back up at the officer in question.

"Did he admit that he had taken the boys without permission? And that he was committing a serious crime?"

"I did tell him that, yes, and he acknowledged it and apologized."

"What was his demeanor?"

"Calm—cooperative."

Not that he had had a _choice _in the matter—it wasn't as if he could have punched the cop in the face like he had been sorely tempted to, and run off with the boys. It would have been a recipe for disaster, and one he hadn't been willing to dabble in when he had precious cargo in tow.

"And what about when he was being placed under arrest?" 

That memory was seared into the back of his brain. Even though it had been horrifying to hear the cop say those words, and then be cuffed and placed in the back of the car, that had been nothing compared to the fear of the boys seeing that happen to him.

"He was calm, tense," the officer admitted.

"Did he resist?"

"No. The only request he made, was that I not handcuff him in front of the boys. He didn't want them seeing that, he said."

"And did you?" the prosecutor asked.

"No, we walked behind my car where I cuffed him then."

"Alright. No further questions."


	31. Chapter 31

The court broke for the day before testimony resumed the next morning. Before the prosecution was allowed to call any new witnesses, it was Dawn's turn to deliver her cross-examination of the arresting officer who had first pulled Caleb and the boys over.

It would prove to be a critical cross-examination from Dawn, since this was the charge that had the potential of carrying a life sentence for him, if the jury was that cruel, and if the fates were so clearly _not_ on his side.

As he went through the familiar routine of being transported to the county courthouse for the continuation of the prosecution's case, he tried to envision Dawn delivering a cross-examination that would obliterate what the prosecution had managed to score against him, and render his testimony unreliable.

It would be tough, though. The police officer wasn't an idiot, and would have followed all laws associated with making the arrest, but he was hoping that she would delve into what happened _after _the arrest, when the boys had made a run for it.

If that didn't prove they_ weren't _scared of him, he didn't know what would, as the guards led him through the halls of the courtroom until they reached the holding cell area that he would have to wait in until his case was called for the day.

Luckily, he didn't have to wait long. Within the hour, the guards were back to lead him into the courtroom, and when the restraints came off, he automatically felt better as they sat him down next to Dawn, who was reviewing her final notes before the officer was called again.

"Hey," he whispered, sneaking a peek at her notes.

"Hi. Sleep well?" she asked, no doubt catching a look at the dark circles under his eyes, and the way that he seemed to be stifling a yawn every time he tried to speak.

"Nope. Every time I did, the mattress was digging into my back."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

Not that he was necessarily _picky_ about what he slept on, but the jail mattresses took the cake for the most uncomfortable bed that he had ever slept on. It hadn't helped his chronic insomnia since being booked into the county jail, and as a result, he came into court exhausted, and often counting down the hours until he could lay back down again.

"Not your fault," he said, hiding a yawn behind his hand. "What are you going to do with this cop?"

"Get him to admit a few things."

"Like what?"

She didn't get a chance to answer—the judge entered the room then, and then the proceedings got under way again. As predicated, the police officer was the first person on the stand that morning, as Dawn got her chance to hammer in her cross-examination of the officer.

"Your Honor," Dawn said, before addressing the witness. "At this point, I would like to ask permission to inquire about some issues that were _not _covered in the State's direct exam."

It was one of the "rules" of cross-examination. The defense wasn't allowed to interrogate the prosecution's witness about issues that _hadn't_ been covered in the direct examination, without first clearing it with a judge.

"You may proceed," the judge said, "but _carefully_," he added.

"Thank you. When did you first get the APB on your radar?"

"About an hour before I made the stop."

"Okay, and like you said yesterday, his demeanor was calm and cooperative?"

"Correct."

"Doesn't that go _against _the typical behaviors that you would suspect from someone who was accused of being dangerous, and on the run from so many charges?"

That would be an interesting question for him to answer—it was true: Caleb had seen many people who hadn't even been accused of something _that_ serious, completely freak when they were pulled over, and even though he had felt the same panic and fear as so many others had, he had reacted calmly so it would go easier for him, and for the kids.

"Yes," he admitted.

"Did the defendant actually _say _that he was trying to flee with the boys?"

No—if Caleb could remember correctly, he hadn't said much about that allegation, except that he was sorry, and that it was a mistake. Which was mostly true, except for it being a mistake, which he knew that it _hadn't _been.

"No. He said that he was just trying to spend more time with the boys before he had to surrender them."

"He never said he was trying to run, correct?"

"That is correct, yes."

"Then what did _you _say?"

"I informed him that, despite his intentions, the law was clearly defined when it concerned these types of offenses."

"And what _offense _did he commit?"

"I told him that he was committing kidnapping by failing to turn them over to the custody of the state, and then he was caught outside the state lines."

"Alright," Dawn said, "so he didn't resist you when you were arresting him?"

"No, I could tell he was tense, but he didn't make any moves to fight me."

"Okay, and then fast foreword a few minutes. What did you do after he had been taken?"

"I went to talk to the children."

"And what did you do?"

"I instructed them to step outside of the car."

Caleb knew what happened after that from what Dawn had told him, and it broke his heart that they had been put in that terrifying position to hear what the officer had next told them.

"And then you told them that the defendant had been placed under arrest, right?"

"Yes."

Dawn knew this would go a long way in disproving the theory by the prosecution that the boys had been abused, and that they had been taken somewhere against their will.

"And what was Dean's reaction when you informed him that my client had been arrested?"

"He was...he was visibly upset."

"And what did he do?"

"He grabbed his brother and ran from us."

From what Dawn had told him, Dean had grabbed Sam's hand and had made a run for it into the woods, where it would be a lot harder for the police to find them. Especially with the concealment techniques that Caleb had taught _both _of them.

"Is _that_," Dawn said, diving into dangerous territory "The symptoms of a scarred, abused, _kidnapped _child-"

"Objection!" Mark Williamson interjected.

"Overruled," the judge said. "But proceed with caution, and rephrase your question."

Dawn nodded, taking a deep breath, before doing her best to _rephrase_ the question while still going for the same answer that she was hoping for. "In your line of work, do children typically exhibit certain behaviors when they have been abused and then kidnapped?"

"Yes, typically."

"Is it something you pick up? Or is it something you're _trained_ to look for?"

"We know the signs from training, and our own personal instincts."

"What does your training encompass, exactly?"

"To a certain degree we have to undergo child and adult psychology courses as part of the overall police training process in order to appropriately converse and deal with children and adults who may have been placed in traumatic or dangerous situations."

"Alright," Dawn said, "and drawing on past experiences and your training, obviously, did Sam and Dean Winchester show any of the signs of abuse and fear that you have come to associate with children who have been alleged victims of a kidnapping and abuse crime?"

"No," the officer said. "They were afraid, but I took that to mean that they were scared of _me_."

"But from the limited interaction you saw between them and the defendant, they did _not _show any fear, correct?"

"Correct."

"No further questions."

* * *

Dean wasn't sure he wanted to do this _at _all. It had only been at Bobby's urging, had he even _agreed _to go, but now, walking into the football stadium with his friends, he was beginning to regret his decision.

Some of his friends from school had heard that he was back, and had invited him to go to a football game the school was having. The only reason he had decided to take them up on their offer, was that the principal would safely be far away from the game, and he wouldn't have to worry about running into him during the game.

"Where have you been, by the way?" his friend Jack asked, as they settled themselves into the stands to watch the game.

"Just doing stuff," Dean said with a shrug, as he dug in his pocket for his camera.

It wasn't anything he felt like he could confide in with his friends—even though they were some of his _best _friends in the world, there were certain parts of his private life that the kept _private_, even from them.

"Like what?"

"Stuff," Dean said again. "What about you?"

"Not much—went out with Rachel Liner."

"The girl from first-"

"Second period," Jack corrected, as the cheerleaders came out onto the field. "She's awesome, she really is."

"Awesome," Dean said, shaking his head in amusement. "You think I might be able to score a date with some of _those _girls?" he asked, jerking his thumb in the direction of the cheerleaders, who were cheering to the school song.

"Probably," Jack said, "and _I _will be there to help you _every _step of the way-"

"Yeah," Dean said with a scoff. "Like I need _your _help, idiot."

"Wow," Jack said, feigning hurt. "So anyway, how's your brother?"

"Annoying as hell," Dean said with a rare smile, "but he's good other than that."

"That's good. How has it been since Jim-"

"Fine," Dean interjected, not wanting to dive into crap that he would much rather leave by the wayside, at least for one night.

"Alright. Are you coming back to school?"

"Probably not."

"Seriously?" Jack said, raising an eyebrow. "Why _not_?"

"Because," Dean said with a shrug. "I don't _want _to go back there."

"But why? Are we really _that _boring?"

"Yeah," Dean said with a short laugh. "You guys are _awful. _But our principal, sorry to say, is a dick."

"I knew that already. Still doesn't explain why-"

"Just some personal crap," Dean said. "Who knows? Maybe one day I'll come back, but not for right now."

"Okay. Can we still hang out?"

"Sure."


	32. Chapter 32

The prosecution's case was nearing its conclusion—after nearly a week of countless hours of witness testimony that bolstered their insane theories that Caleb had abused and kidnapped the boys, they were prepared to call their final witness to hammer the final nail in the coffin for the jurors.

Even though Caleb would be relieved to have their part of the trial over with, it would add another nightmare to his ever growing list when he was brutally reminded of the fact that, after Dawn's case was over, the jury would be free to render a verdict based on the plethora of evidence they had been allowed to hear during the last few weeks.

That final morning of the prosecution's case, Caleb walked into the courtroom with a heavy, nervous heart as he allowed the bailiffs to lead him over to the defense table, where Dawn calmly sat, reviewing her notes, and making minor adjustments to them.

"Hey," she whispered. "How are you?"

"Crappy," he replied honestly.

It was the beauty of their relationship—he could be feeling like total crap, like he was that morning, and she would hold no compunctions about calling him out on it. Same with him when he would make similar remarks to her.

They were completely honest with each other, and in a time of great stress and devastation, it was _exactly_ what Caleb needed from her, as he leaned across the table, trying to read what she was writing in the yellow legal pad paper.

"The prosecution has their final witness today," she began, trying to review everything with him before the start of the proceedings that morning. She had already visited him the night before in jail, and had informed him that the state would be ready to rest that day, after they had called their final witness.

"I know," he said, scrubbing a tired hand over his sore, exhausted eyes. A product of suffering through little to no sleep the previous night. "Who is it going to be? Or don't you know?"

It could be anyone, and their testimony would be what the jurors heard in their minds when they were in the deliberation room. It was sickening to realize that the prosecution could have very well proved their case already with the witnesses and experts they had paraded onto the stand, and Caleb and Dawn would have no idea until it was too late.

"I don't know," she affirmed. "I tried to find out, but they have it under lock and key."

"Is that good or bad?" he asked, not knowing how he should react to the fact that the prosecution's final witness was being kept such a closely guarded secret, and also not liking the fact that even Dawn, his legal powerhouse of an attorney, couldn't suss it out.

"Neither," she said with a shrug. "It won't matter _who_ it is, we'll still have _our _chance to discredit everything, especially on cross." It would be her final cross-exam of the prosecution's witnesses, and she was already mentally formulating a plan of attack, and would edit her carefully planned notes with the introduction of the witness.

"You better have a hell of a cross planned," he said, shaking his head in disbelief, as the judge entered the room, and they had to stand.

"Don't worry," she said, as they sat back down.

Trying to take her advice to heart, he heaved a deep sigh, as he listened to the judge call the jury into the room. Then, after standing and then sitting back down for them, it was time for the hearing to officially get underway.

As predicted, the state formally announced they were resting after calling their final witness. Trying to ignore the almost painful thundering of his heart in his ribcage, he tried to focus on what the prosecutor was saying, as he prepared to call the witness to the stand.

"Who would the state like to call as their final witness?" the judge asked, as he glanced over in the direction of the prosecutor, Mark Williamson.

"Your Honor, the State calls Diane Ward to the stand."

The well-meaning, interfering woman from CPS who had spearheaded the sick campaign to rid him of custody of the boys, and had succeeded in her efforts.

"You got to be _kidding_ me," Caleb whispered, not able to disguise the disgust that colored his tone as he watched the perky brunette make her way up to the stand.

She had rubbed him the wrong way when she had flat out accused him of abuse, and she was rubbing him the wrong way _now_, with her cool and (and even rude) demeanor, as she avoided looking him directly in the eye, clearly either feeling guilty for what she had caused, or satisfaction.

"State your name for the record," the prosecutor said, as he focused on his star witness.

"Diane Ward," she announced clearly, pausing to take a sip from the water bottle the bailiff had provided for her.

"And what is your occupation?"

"I am a caseworker for Steele County Child Protective Services."

_Or a hellraiser_, Caleb thought, shaking his head, as he tried to calm himself down after the look of warning that Dawn gave him.

"And what do your duties encompass?"

"Mainly I am an investigator for the state family services. My duties could mean counseling a family who is in crisis, or it could mean taking preventative measures to make sure one or all of them are safe from danger."

_Like me_, Caleb thought, trying to keep his thoughts to himself as he forced himself to stare into this woman's face.

"How long have you been working in your current position?"

"Twenty-five years, sir."

A long time to be working in _any _position—and Caleb knew without anyone telling him, that her credibility would be greatly heightened in the eyes of the jury because of her years of service to the state.

"That's a long time," Mark commented, "so in those years, you've grown accustomed to seeing a lot of different family scenarios, correct?"

"That's correct," she replied.

"What about cases where the children are at a certain disadvantage within the home? And by that, I mean, when you suspect abuse or neglect. What's the process of investigating that, if you could walk us through that."

"Sure," she said effortlessly. "Our department will receive a call from the individual who has noticed or suspected abuse, and then it will go through the appropriate channels before a caseworker is assigned. In this case, that was me, and I set about to make the right calls to organize the investigation."

"And part of your investigation is interviewing the suspect and the alleged victims of the crime, correct?"

"Yes."

Her "interview" with Caleb, had been more like an interrogation where she had lambasted him with the allegations that her department had come up with.

"Did you make contact with Caleb Rivers?"

"Yes."

"And what was his demeanor when you two spoke with each other?"

"Defensive."

"About what?"

"About the charges that he was being accused of."

"Did he verbally deny causing the marks to Dean Winchester?"

"Yes, he did."

"By this time," Mark said, "had you already started your investigation?"

"Yes, we had."

"You informed him that you needed to arrange a meeting with the children. Did he resist the idea of that?"

Like hell he had resisted it, but Caleb had known that if had refused to have the boys meet with the woman, the outcome would have been worse on all of them in the end.

"No, not entirely. He wasn't too enthused about the idea, but he never denied me the right to come in and speak with them."

"What conditions did you observe in the home when you first arrived?"

Like they were honestly expecting him to have the boys living in deplorable conditions. It would have been hilarious if the situation hadn't been so serious.

"Everything was clean," she said, "and orderly."

"What about the children? What did you observe on sight?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary," she admitted. "Their clothes were clean and they seemed to fit nicely."

"Did they appear to be underweight?"

"No."

Caleb knew those were the only points he had earned. At least in the eyes of this woman, who had so harshly judged him from the second she had laid eyes on him.

"Did you notice the bruise mark on Dean?"

"I did, yes."

"Was he able to move his arm?"

"Yes."

"And were you able to talk to the children?"

"I was."

At that moment, the prosecution asked for the judge to admit into evidence, the audio recordings of her conversation with the boys. Sam was the first one she spoke with, so his interview was played first, and Caleb wished it hadn't.

Without meaning to, Sam had made the entire situation worse when he had clammed up during her questioning, and had shed an even brighter spotlight on his family.

_How often are you in school? _Diane's voice asked.

Caleb could remember listening with Dean in the other room, as Sam spoke with her, and he could remember the dread and panic that had settled in _both_ of their veins when he had flubbed the interview.

_Not a lot lately, _Sam's voice admitted.

Even without _physically_ being in the room with him, Caleb could _hear_ how nervous he had been during the interview, and how he was trying to be honest, but at the same time, adhering to the guidelines that Caleb had given him with which answer the woman.

_Why aren't you in school? _

_Um, _Sam said, clearly beginning to clam up, and Caleb hated the fact that this woman was pushing him to make a satisfactory answer to enhance her investigation.

_It's okay, you can answer_," Diane coaxed.

_I'm not supposed to_," Sam said, nailing the first nail in the coffin.

It had been basically what Caleb had told him to say, but not exactly in those words, and that was when the investigation had taken on a more serious, ominous turn, with the woman now clearly suspecting that he had been coached.

"When you consider that statement," Mark said, pausing the audio, as he turned to face her again. "What comes to mind, in your experience?"

"He was coached in some way, in what to say to me."

That was exactly what Caleb was afraid of—that they would draw that kind of conclusion that Sam had been coached by him to lie to the CPS worker, when nothing could have been further from the truth. The only reason he had told Sam what to say, was so that he wouldn't end up revealing something about what they did to her.

"What was his behavior when you two were speaking?"

"He was calm, happy when he was talking about his friends and school, but when we got on the subject of his absences and so forth, he became nervous."

"Alright, let's resume the tape."

It took a second for the tape to resume playing, during that time Caleb tried desperately to control the insane nausea that was coursing through his system, as he fought to stay focused on the tape and what was going on around him.

_What about your brother? _Diane's voice asked, switching to the one topic that had completely unraveled the interview.

Caleb knew that the prosecution was only supposed to show the worst parts of the interview, but he wished that he had showed the part of the interview where Sam had talked eagerly about what a wonderful guardian he was, and how much fun they all had together.

_What about him? _Sam asked, clearly confused.

_I saw those nasty bruises on his arm, _Diane said, trying to trap him into pinning the blame on Caleb. _Do you know anything about those? _

_No_, Sam said.

Caleb could tell that he was scared, trying not to say anything at _all_, even though this woman was pushing him for an answer that she wouldn't even understand. It made him sick to know that she had pushed a nine-year-old into confessing something that wasn't even _true._

_Anything at all? It's important._

And then Sam said the words that had _completely_ blown the case wide open, and it made Caleb's blood boil that she had forced that out of him, and he had folded due, understandably, to his own fears of being cornered like he was.

_You wouldn't understand? _

_What wouldn't I understand? _

_Caleb said I'm not supposed to say anything._

Caleb bowed his head, fighting back tears. The implication of what Sam had told her, was staggering. It didn't _look_ bad, it _was_ bad. This, to an outsider, looked increasingly like he had been taught to say those words to that lady, and they wouldn't have any other basis to go on.

"When you consider that statement," the prosecutor said, turning to the lady. "Does that look like he was coached to say those words?"

"Basically, yes."

"No further questions."

* * *

After the lunch break, Dawn got _her_ chance to deliver her cross-exam of the witness. The pressure was on _her_ that afternoon, and she knew it. This would be her final chance to blow holes in the prosecution's ridiculous theories, and she knew that it would end with this lady, and the pressure she had unduly put on a child.

"Mrs. Ward," Dawn said, "I would like to play parts of the interview that counsel neglected to play, if I may, your Honor?"

"Yes," the judge said, nodding. "Be careful, though."

"Thank you."

Turning to the television as she played the tape of the interview, she played the other parts of the interview that the prosecution had omitted, when they had been trying to paint her client in the worst possible light.

_What about Caleb? _Diane asked, her voice floating across the courtroom. _Is he a good guardian? _

Sam's reply was instantaneous, without hesitation. _Yes. He's amazing._

"Does that," Dawn said, pausing the tape. "Sound like a child that has been coached to say something like that? Or has been abused, for that matter?"

"No," Diane admitted.

"And what was his demeanor when you two spoke about Caleb? Was he nervous or scared?"

"No."

"Was he excited and eager to talk about what a good guardian my client was?"

"Yes, he was."

After that, Dawn switched the tapes around to play Dean's interview. The prosecution's interrogation of Diane Ward had consisted of playing only Sam's portion of the interview, but Dawn was curious as to what her take of _Dean's_ interview would be.

For most of the interview, she and Dean talked amiably about sports and Sam, which Dean discussed with apparent ease. When the inevitable questions about school and his numerous absences came up, Dean waved off the concern to being sick, and to losing their dear guardian a few months previously.

It was when the conversation turned to Caleb that Dean started to get defensive, and that was the portion that Dawn wanted the jury to hear for themselves, and what would prove to be crucial for them to absorb, especially in deliberations.

_Are you afraid? _Diane asked, switching to the one topic that Sam had messed up so badly on.

_No! _Dean said forcefully, his indignation shining clearly through the audio as he defended his guardian and confidante. _If I'm afraid of anyone, it's you!_

_Why would you be afraid of me? _

_For trying to do what you're trying to do!_

_And what's that?_

_Taking us from Caleb!_

At that juncture, Dawn stopped the audio. It was clear she had gotten from the tape, what she had wanted to get from it.

"Does that appear to you like someone who is afraid of the defendant?"

"Looks can be deceiving," the woman replied coolly.

"Well," Dawn said, "what this looks like to _me_, is a kid who is scared to death of being separated from him, and doing everything in his _power_ to defend someone he loves with all his heart."

"Well," Diane said, shaking her head. "I can only base my opinion on what I observed from the children."

"And did they show any fear of my client when you saw them together before the interview?"

"No."

"They didn't shy away from him or act like they wanted to get away, correct?"

"Correct."

"I want to play this for you to hear," Dawn said, as she played the other part of the audio recording of Dean's interview.

_I was wondering if you could tell me what happened to your arm_, Diane said, diving into the source of their investigation in the first place.

_Nothing_.

_Nothing? _She repeated incredulously, as though the idea that it could be _anything_ other than what she suspected, was ludicrous.

_I believe that's what I said. _

_When there are marks of that size and severity, we need to investigate and ask why they didn't receive medical attention. _

_I was out playing with my friends. I slipped and banged my arm on the cement, and I hid it._

At that point, Dawn stopped the interview.

"He had a valid reason for what happened to his arm," Dawn said, turning her attention to the woman again. "Why didn't that suffice for your office and your investigation?"

"Because the marks on his arm were consistent with being hit or grabbed."

"Those marks could have come from anywhere, and you have the alleged victim, _telling_ you what happened, and why they didn't receive attention. It was entirely possible, correct?"

"It would have been plausible had there not been any other factors."

Caleb shook his head; this woman had been on his case from the get-go, and she was _still_ going after him all those months later in court. He wanted to jump up and demand to know what it was about him that attracted so much unwanted attention, but he wisely refrained.

"And what were those _factors_?" Dawn asked, her patience clearly wearing thin with this woman.

"The absences, and the marks. We had a medical expert examine the photographs, and they came up with the same conclusion that we did."

"But in your own personal observations, you never personally witnessed anything to suggest abuse, correct?"

"Yes."

"No further questions."


	33. Chapter 33

Caleb wasn't sure whether to feel ecstatic that the prosecution's witch-hunt of a case against him, was over. Or dread with the knowledge that after Dawn was done presenting their case, it would go to the jury and they would have the burden of deciding whether or not he was capable of committing those horrible acts.

After Dawn was done cross—examining the caseworker from CPS, the state had officially rested, and the judge had dismissed court for the day to give Dawn time to prepare her first witness, and come up with a strategy plan for the remaining weeks of the trial that would be hers.

"So what did you think of the State's case?" Caleb asked, as they sat across from each other in that same room they had long ago arranged to meet in. It was definitely nicer than staring at each other through a glass partition.

"They were good," she conceded, "but they didn't _prove _anything. They never proved conclusively that those marks came from _you_, and they didn't prove _anything_ other than the fact that you were a good, loving guardian to those two kids."

"Yeah," Caleb said with a small laugh. "I don't think that was _quite _the effect they were going for."

"I don't think so, but even their own _witnesses_ said that they had never seen anything to suggest abuse. Their case, where it concerns that, isn't as strong as they would like to believe, unfortunately."

"So what are you going to do with _our_ chance, now?"

After the prosecution had officially rested in the case, it automatically went to Dawn. It was a relief to know that she would have more opportunities to defend him now, but it was also incredibly nerve-wracking for Caleb, who knew what would happen the second that she rested.

Jury deliberations, which would put him on edge the entire time they were in that room, until they rendered a verdict. It was startling for him to realize that, no matter what their decision was, he would have no choice but to accept it, even if it was something completely horrible and unforeseeable.

Thinking those kinds of thoughts wasn't entirely in line with remaining as sane as possible throughout the remainder of the proceedings, so he tried _not_ to go there as he scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to wipe away the tiredness as much as he tried to wipe away the horrific trial, and the memories that he associated with it.

"Well," she said, "the prosecution didn't necessarily _prove_ abuse, but they didn't _disprove_ it, either."

She knew that a jury would need concrete proof before they were expected to render an appropriate verdict—she would need to insert as much doubt in their minds if they were to go into that deliberation room with as clear a conscience as possible, and that would be no small order.

"So what are _we_ going to do?" Caleb asked, not able to keep a yawn concealed.

"Tired?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah. I didn't get much sleep last night."

It had become the story of his life since his incarceration, but it was starting to show during the day, when he could hardly keep his eyes open during the court hearings, and was constantly having to hide a yawn whenever he tried to talk.

"I'm sorry. Too much on your mind?"

"You can say that."

He was relieved that he wouldn't have to sit through listening to the hateful prosecutor, and wouldn't have to listen to their biased witnesses, but just the fact that the case was nearing its conclusion, was enough to make his insomnia worse, as he tried to imagine finally being able to be reunited with the boys.

"Well, it will be over pretty soon," she promised. "I don't know if that's _comforting_ to you or not," she added with a small laugh.

"Hell no," he said, shaking his head. "It actually makes it _worse_, knowing that I won't have a choice but to accept whatever the jury comes up with."

"We still have some stuff to prove before that happens," she assured him. "The fact that the prosecution chose to put Diane Ward on the stand as their final witness, they were hoping to leave the jury with _her_ testimony in their minds."

"Right," he said, nodding. "So how do _you_ override that?"

"Well," she said, with a slight grimace. "I don't think I have any choice _but_ to put Dean on the stand."

Caleb nodded; he had been afraid of that. Not because he wasn't confident that Dean could effectively pull off whatever questions Dawn would ask, but he didn't _want_ Dean to be put in that position, to have to answer questions not only from Dawn, but from the prosecution, who would hammer him with their cross-exam, and he would hate for Dean to be faced with that.

"Do you _absolutely_ have to?"

"If you don't want me to, I won't, but it's advisable right now. The jury will want to hear from him. If the victim of the alleged abuse, goes on the stand and defends you, it will make a huge impact on them."

"I know.

Even though he hated to admit that she was right, he had no other choice. The jury would be more inclined to believe _their_ side, if Dean blew apart the prosecutions story, and told them in no uncertain terms that he had _never_ been abused by Caleb, or kidnapped.

"I'll go over to the house and talk to him, if you want me to."

"That's fine."

"It's fine if-"

"It's fine if you feel like you need him to blow apart what the prosecution is saying. What kind of questions will he have to answer?"

"My job will be to have him confirm everything that I've been saying all along—that you never abused he or Sam, and that he never went anywhere with you against his will."

"I'm sure the prosecution will jump on that," Caleb said, with a roll of his eyes.

"Probably, but I'll do what I can to make that part of it easy on him."

"Thank you."

* * *

Dean was on edge—the fact that the prosecution had rested their case, didn't make things easier on him. In fact, it made it slightly _worse_, knowing that they were one step closer to knowing what the jury's decision would be, and Dean knew for a fact that he wasn't at all prepared for the outcome of the trial.

"Hey, kid," Bobby said, as he poked his head in Dean's room.

Lately, he had been shutting himself in his room whenever he could escape out from under the pressing, concerning gazes that he and Sam gave him. It was his own coping method, but it was one that Bobby was trying his hardest to dissuade him from.

"Hey," Dean said, as he looked up from his desk, where he had been writing something down. "What's up?"

"Not too much—Dawn's here, though."

"She _is_?"

He hadn't seen Dawn in awhile, not since she had first come over before the trial had started, to ask him whether or not he would be interested in testifying for her if she needed him to.

"Yeah, she wants to talk to the two of us."

"Okay," Dean said, sighing as he got up from the desk chair, stretching out the kinks in his back that had been products of having sat for so long. "Let's go."

Like Bobby had said, Dawn was downstairs in the living room, waiting for them to appear. Smiling warmly at Dean, he accepted the hug that she gave him, as they sat down together on the couch.

"So," Dean said, "what's up?"

"Not too much," Dawn said. "Did Bobby mention something to you about the prosecution resting their case the other day?"

Dean nodded, looking down to shield the irksome tears that he could feel coming. "Yeah," he said, finally feeling strong enough to look back up at her. "He did."

"Okay," she said softly. "The last witness they called, was the CPS worker who had interviewed you and your brother."

The woman that had, unintentionally, caused so much pain for he and Sam. Dean couldn't hide the look of anger and contempt that flashed across his face, as he tried to control the insane rush of anger that coursed through his body.

"Okay," he said, "and what crap did she come up with?"

"They played an audio recording of your interview with her."

"_Seriously?_"

Dean knew that Sam's comments to her, had been the basis for her continuing her investigation, and of Caleb losing custody of them. Even though no one placed the blame on Sam, it had still been the smoking gun they had used in court.

"Seriously," Dawn said, nodding quietly. "The prosecution only played the worst parts of Sam's interview with her, the parts where he said he wasn't supposed to bring up certain things."

Dean nodded. "Yeah," he said softly.

He could remember the absolute horror that had passed through his soul when Sam had told the woman that Caleb had told him _not_ to talk about certain things. It had been the one comment that had blown the case wide open.

"After I had my chance to dispute it, I _did_ play the parts of the interview where you _both_ talked about how wonderful Caleb was, and how he would never do _anything_ to harm you."

"Thank you."

At least Dawn had been at the top of her game, and had been able to play the portions of the interview that the prosecution had neglected to play for the jury.

"My only question is this: the jury will want to hear from the alleged victim of the crime if they're supposed to believe what _I'm_ telling them. If you get up on the stand, and deny everything that the prosecution has spouted so far, it will make a _huge_ impression on them. So would you be willing to testify?"

Dean nodded, trying to swallow back that part of him that would be nervous about getting up on the stand, and having all eyes on him. It would be his one chance to make this go away for Caleb, and he would have no idea if what he had to say, would actually make an impression or not.

"I want to," he said slowly, "and I _will_. I'm just worried that I'll freeze like Sam did, and mess things up even more than they already are."

"I'll make sure that won't happen," she assured him. "Most of these questions you should be able to answer without a problem."

"What kind of questions?"

"The ones that I'll be asking you, will be simple ones. What kind of guardian is Caleb? Has he ever hit you or punch you? Did he kidnap you? That sort of thing."

"Okay. What about the prosecution?"

"They'll do a cross-exam, but I'll do my best to deflect as many of their questions as I possibly can."

"Okay, thank you."

"So are you going to do it?"

"Yes."


	34. Chapter 34

As Dean walked into the courtroom that morning, he tried to ignore the intense nausea that was coursing through his veins, as he shakily slid into the galley with Bobby for the start of the proceedings. It was the first official hearing since Dawn had been handed the case after the prosecution had rested the previous day.

She planned on calling Dean as her first witness to testify. It was terrifying for the thirteen-year-old. Not because he was having any doubts as to _what_ he would say when given the right questions, it was because he was terrified of messing up, and casting _more_ problems on his guardian's shoulders.

And he was nervous about seeing Caleb—it had been two months since he had last seen the younger hunter, and that had been when the police had pulled them over, and had instructed him to step out of the car. After that, had followed a never-ending hell of emotional turmoil while he anticipated the end of a trial that had haunted him for _weeks._

"Are you okay?" Bobby whispered, seeing how tense the kid looked as he knotted his hands into tight fists in order to attempt to regain control over his battered emotions before they got the best of him.

"No," Dean said, not even bothering to deny it like he normally would have.

There was no point. Not when his heart was thundering like a hammer in his chest, and his palms were achy and sweaty from clenching them so tightly. He could feel himself shaking not just with nervousness at being called to testify, but of seeing Caleb.

A much _better_ reunion would have been to have actually been able to hug him, but he knew that would be out of the question. He knew, without anyone telling him, that it would be a surreal thing to watch him be led in by guards, and he tried to prepare himself for that as much as he possibly could, before it actually happened.

It made him sick to realize that people _actually_ assumed he was dangerous—thus requiring the security and restraints that had to accompany him whenever he traveled anywhere. He hoped that, with the inclusion of his testimony, that the jury would hear for themselves, how wonderful Caleb was, and how much he adored he and Sam.

"Try not to think about it, okay?" Bobby said, knowing exactly what the problem was, and knowing there was nothing he could do to alleviate the fears that Dean had placed on his shoulders. "Try to think about what you're going to say when you get up there."

"Okay."

Even though Dean _knew_ it wouldn't be that easy—not when he was brutally reminded of the little rules he had to oblige by when he was in the courtroom. No physical contact between he and Caleb, and no real conversing with each other. Just like in the jail, but this time Dean would be in the same room as he was, and be forced to stare that hateful prosecutor in the face as he delivered his cross-exam once Dawn was through.

The doors leading into the courtroom opened again. Twisting around in his seat, Dean saw Dawn enter this time. Passing her a nervous smile, he was rewarded with one of her own, as she leaned foreword to converse privately with he and Bobby.

"Okay," she said, "it's going to start in a few minutes."

"The hearing is?" Bobby asked.

"Yeah. The judge is going to call the jury in, and then we'll start."

"You're—you're going to call me first?" Dean asked, surprised at how shaken his voice was, as he tried desperately to rid his body of the sickness that he was feeling.

"That's right," she said softly, sensing, perhaps, how nervous he was. "Just tell me what you know, Dean, that's all you have to do. Nothing else."

"What if I screw this up?" he whispered, as more people started flocking into the room.

"You _won't_," she promised him. "Just stick to the facts, Dean. No matter how hard it will be for you to face the prosecutor, it's essential that you answer him honestly."

Dean nodded, trying to shove aside as much of the hatred and contempt he felt for the prosecution's side, as he could. While it wasn't technically _their_ fault that this nightmare of theirs was happening, it _was_ their fault that they had pursued him so relentlessly, and had allowed CPS to fool them into thinking the absolute worst of him.

"Okay," he finally said, when he realized that she was waiting for an answer. "I promise."

"Okay," she said, giving him a tight smile. "We got this."

If only he could be assured of that—if only he could know that, when all was said and done, the jury would make the right decision and set Caleb free, but he didn't know that, and that was what was grating on his nerves, as he tried to breathe through the amount of panic that he could feel bubbling in his system.

"When is Caleb-"

His hesitant question was answered when the side doors leading into the other part of the courthouse that housed the holding cells, were opened, and the guards led Caleb in by the arm. Dean could feel his breath catch in his throat, as he glimpsed his first sight of his beloved guardian in two months.

He looked the same as he remembered him—except that Dean could tell, when he looked closely, that he was tense, nervous just like he was, as the guards led him over to the defense table where Dawn had gone over to seat herself.

"He looks good, doesn't he?" Bobby whispered.

Dean nodded, beyond words.

"All rise!" the bailiff said, as the judge entered the room.

When they rose for the judge, Caleb turned and gave Dean a small smile. Dean tried to return it, but he was sure his face was frozen in shock at what was happening, as they sat back down.

Once the jury was called in, they had to stand again. Dean was used to this routine from watching too many crime shows on television, but it was surreal to be doing it in an _actual_ court of law, where someone he loved dearly, was on trial there.

"Does the state recognize the presence of the jury?" the judge asked.

"We do, your honor," the prosecutor said.

"And does the defense?"

"Yes," Dawn announced clearly.

"And who would the defense wish to call as their first witness?"

This was it—Dean could feel his heart hammering in his throat, his mouth painfully dry as he looked in a blind panic at Bobby, who returned his panicked one with his own calm one. Even though Dean tried to take some comfort from the look, he couldn't. Too much was riding on his testimony for him to feel completely at ease.

"The defense calls Dean Winchester to the stand," Dawn said, standing up.

Taking that as his cue to stand, Dean made his way to the front of the room where the witness stand was set up. Swallowing back the bile that rose in his throat, he noticed when Caleb held out his hand discreetly to him.

Trying to hide a smile so it wouldn't be noticed, he slapped his hand against Caleb's, trying to take comfort from that brief physical contact they had shared. The first in months, as Dean allowed himself a quick second look into his gentle eyes.

"Go get 'em," Caleb whispered softly.

Dean nodded, swallowing convulsively as he approached the bailiff, who swore him in before allowing him to take the stand. Sitting in the witness seat, he tried to control the almost painful pounding of his heart, as he forced himself to look not at the prosecution side, but at Caleb and Dawn, as she rose to start her direct-exam.

"State your name for the record," she said, beginning her interrogation.

"D-Dean Winchester."

"How long have you known Caleb?" she asked, speaking softly for him.

"As long as I can remember, pretty much," he said with a small smile.

This wasn't _so_ bad—not when he was talking to Dawn, who he trusted, and who he knew Caleb trusted too. It was easier opening up to her, knowing that she had his and Caleb's best interests at heart.

"So you two are pretty close," she said, stating the obvious.

"Oh, yeah," he said, without hesitation.

"He knew your parents?"

"He knew my dad."

"And then after your parents both died, he and Jim started to raise you and Sam?"

"Yes."

It had been so long ago that he barely remembered that horrible period—it was only through the few memories he had of that time, and from Caleb and Jim's own recollections that he knew the gist of what that time had been like for all of them.

"How old were you when your parents died?"

"I was four when my Mom died, and then five when my dad was killed."

"So you've only ever _really_ known Caleb and Jim, correct?"

"Yes. I have a few memories here and there of them, but all of my real memories are of being with Jim and Caleb and Bobby."

Dawn smiled. "So you all have become like a family, right?"

"Absolutely."

In the place of his real family, his real parents, Jim and Caleb and Bobby had become his family. They had become his support and love system, and had become the only people in the world who he could confide in and share with. They were the only people he knew to look after he and his brother, and the bonds they had formed with one another, had become priceless to him.

"So," Dawn said, diving into the heart of her defense, and the claims that surrounded her client and the two boys. "I'm sure there are times when you and your brother aren't so good, right?"

"Oh, yes," Dean said, smiling. "_Many _times."

Glancing over at Caleb, he saw him hide a smile behind his hand, knowing the truthfulness of Dean's statement better than anyone in that room.

"What would happen if you boys got into trouble?"

Dean knew why she was asking those questions—she was getting into the claims that CPS had made, and he was only too happy to refute them, and inform the court of what _really_ went on when he and Sam got into trouble.

"It depends," Dean answered honestly. "When we were younger, we would be put in the corner, and if it wasn't serious enough, they would let us slide on punishment."

"And what about now when you're older?"

"If it's bad enough, they ground us," Dean said with a shrug. "Or they'll give us a _really_ boring lecture."

"Caleb has never hit you, correct?"

"_Never._"

"Even accidentally, when he gets a little _too_ mad sometimes?"

Dean knew why she was asking him those questions, and he knew it was to blow apart the ridiculous allegations made by CPS, and he was only too thrilled to answer in the absolute negative.

"No," Dean said, shaking his head. "Not accidentally, not on purpose. Never."

"Okay. What about the bruise mark on your arm?"

The whole reason their nightmare had started—it had mostly healed now, except for a faint yellowish mark that had now rested on the spot. It wouldn't be visible to anyone, except if they knew what they were looking for.

"I fell," he said, giving her the same story that he had given the CPS worker. "I hit it on the cement when I was playing sports with my friends."

"Did you mention the mark to Caleb or Bobby?"

"No. It didn't seem that serious to me, and so I didn't let them see it. It was only right before CPS called, that Caleb first saw it and by then it was too late to do anything about it."

"Okay," she said, "and so you got it from playing with your friends, right?"

"Yes."

"And Caleb did _not_ see it until right _before_ he received the call from child protective services?"

"Yes."

It was a lie, but Dean knew that if he deviated from the original story that he had fed to the CPS worker, the prosecution would hammer him during their cross-examination.

"I have to ask," she warned, knowing this would be a touchy subject for him. "And you have to answer me honestly, _do you_ understand?"

"Yes."

Dawn hesitated. "Was Sam coached by Caleb before he spoke with Diane Ward?"

Dean knew that she had to ask the tough questions, as well as the easy ones, but he hated that he had to answer this one, and he honestly wasn't sure _how_ to answer it, as he glanced nervously over at Caleb.

"It's okay," Caleb mouthed, signaling to him to answer her honestly.

"Sam was nervous about doing the interview without any of us in the room with him," Dean said, "and Caleb told him that if she asked him about my arm or about school, he should just say that he didn't know, which was the truth."

"So Caleb never said that he couldn't answer her questions, correct?"

"Absolutely not," Dean said. "He knew how important the interview was, and Sam tried to do what he told him to do, it just came out the wrong way," he added with a slight laugh.

"Caleb never coached him to lie to her, right?"

"No."

"What about," Dawn said, covering some of the neglect charges that were up against Caleb. "When you two are really hurt or sick? Does he take you to the doctor or the hospital?"

"Of _course_," Dean said, as though the idea that he _wouldn't_, was ludicrous. "If we're really sick, we go to the doctor. If we cut something or really hurt ourselves, he takes us to the hospital."

There had been numerous times when he and Sam had both been taken in for an illness, or when one of them cut something rough housing. Or a year or two previously, when Sam had been taken to the hospital to get his appendix removed.

"So the idea that he wouldn't take you to the doctor for something like a bruise or anything serious like that is-"

"Ridiculous," Dean finished. "If I had showed him the bruise, he would have taken me in."

It was obvious that was the answer she was hoping for. "Alright, and take me through what happened the night that Caleb was arrested," she said gently, seeing Dean noticeably wince when she brought up that horrible memory.

"We were scared," Dean said carefully, glancing over at Caleb who nodded encouragingly to him.

"Of what?"

"Of something happening to Sam again—he had been kidnapped a month or two before that, and we were afraid of being separated if we went into the state's care."

"So you were scared of Sam being taken by the same person that took him before?"

"Yes."

"So Caleb took you because he was afraid of something happening to you?"

"Yes."

"Did he tell you that you were going to run?"

Dean hesitated, refraining from scratching something on his face. One of the pointers that Dawn had given him when she had visited him, was to avoid touching his face. In the sharp eyes of the jury and the prosecution, whenever a witness did that, it normally signified they were lying about something.

"No. He said that he didn't want us to be apart. He wanted us to be together," Dean said, "and more importantly, he wanted to make sure that Sam wasn't hurt again."

"But you went more than willingly, correct?"

"Why wouldn't we?"

The memory of Sam's kidnapping was as fresh in his mind as it had been the day that it had happened—and the thought of being separated from him, if they had been forced apart in CPS, and from Caleb, had been more than enough for him to push Caleb to run for the safe house.

"Alright," Dawn said, "and then when you were pulled over, what happened?"

"Caleb," Dean said, pausing to bow his head to try to ward off the tears that resulted from that horrific memory being brought back up. "He told us to stay in the car, and we did."

"You and Sam?" she prompted.

"Yes."

"And then what happened?"

"Nothing. I remember feeling like something was wrong, and then when the officer came to the car and told us to get out, we did."

"And then what happened?"

"He told us that Caleb had been arrested."

"And then what?"

"I flipped out, and we ran."

"Why did you run?" Dawn asked carefully, sensing what a sensitive subject that was for him to talk about, and wanting to tread carefully with how far she pushed him.

"Because," Dean said, with a scoff, as his voice broke. "I had _just_ been told that someone I _adored_, had been arrested, and I panicked because in my mind, there was no way I was allowing myself or Sam to be taken to that place. Especially if we could be separated."

That had been the deciding factor of them running—not only could they be separated from Caleb, but Dean knew that it was a possibility of he and Sam being placed in different homes, and that wasn't even an option.

"But Caleb never-"

"Caleb never took us against our will. He never abused us in any way, and he never denied us medical treatment when it was warranted," Dean said, deciding to cover all the bases.

"No further questions."


	35. Chapter 35

"You are saying that the defendant never abused you, correct?"

"I believe that's what I'm saying," Dean replied coolly, as he forced himself to look into the prosecutor's fanatic, judgmental eyes as he delivered his cross—examination in response to what Dawn had just interrogated him on during her _direct_—examination.

"You said that the bruise marks on your arm were the _direct _result of slipping on the wet cement while you were outside playing with friends?"

"Yes."

"Okay," Mark Williamson said. "Then how do you account for the _other_ occasions when you showed up at school with similar marks on your arm?"

The one issue that Dawn had neglected to cover—the _other _instances where Dean had shown up at school with other bruise marks on his body. It had been the direct result of another hunt gone wrong, but hadn't been anything as serious as the marks that the entire trial centered around.

"I..." Dean hesitated, wondering _how _he shoulder answer this man's question. It would be too obvious to say that he obtained the bruises from the same alleged means, but what else was he supposed to say?

"You what?" Mark prompted

"I..."

"Your Honor," Dawn said, standing up. "This question needs to be vetoed right now."

She knew that if Dean hesitated any longer, it would start to look suspicious in the eyes of the jury, and that was the last thing that she needed to have happen.

"Overruled," the judge said, before turning to Dean. "You need to answer the question."

Dean nodded, swallowing convulsively, as he tried to come up with a believable excuse as to how he had gotten the other marks. "I banged my arm again—stupid mistake."

"You're saying," Mark said, "that you fell _again _and hit your arm?"

"I'm clumsy," Dean said, rolling his eyes. "What else can I say?"

"I want you to be truthful with me about how you _really _got those marks-"

"Objection!" Dawn said.

"Sustained," the judge said, "rephrase your question."

"Is it true that there have been _several_ instances where you have shown up at school with significant bruising?"

Dean shook his head, feeling nothing but the same anger and contempt that he knew Caleb felt for this man, and he hated him for putting him on the spot about something that he had no clue about. It was infuriating, and it was also terrifying, because he had no idea how to truthfully answer the questions, while still protecting Caleb from a possible conviction.

"I don't _know _how many times I showed up at school with bruising-"

"There have been at _least _five different instances where you _and _your brother have showed up at school with bruising on different parts of your body. Is that true?"

"No."

"So you're saying the teachers are lying?"

"Yeah, I am," Dean said, "because all I know is that we were _never_-"

"Why would the teachers lie about this?"

Dean shook his head, shrugging. "I don't _know_," he said, his voice shaking. "All _I _know is that those bruises did _not _come from Caleb."

Feeling himself dangerously close to losing it, he took a deep, soothing breath as he looked over at Caleb. He could tell that Caleb was just as infuriated at this man as _he _was, but when he caught Dean's gaze, he gave him a small smile, encouraging him to finish the interrogation.

"Then _where _did they come from?"

"They came from me. I slipped and hurt myself."

"Is it true," the prosecutor said, changing tactics. "That the timing of your bruises coincides with when you and your brother had time off from school?"

"No!"

Dean had heard from Bobby that the prosecution's main theory as to when he got the bruises, was when he and Sam had time off from school. In their minds, it was the perfect time for Caleb to inflict the marks, and have them mostly healed by the time they went back.

"So those bruises were _not _there after you returned to school after a break?" the prosecutor asked incredulously.

"I'm not saying they _weren't _there. I'm saying that they did not come from Caleb."

"We had several of our experts," Mark said, as he had the bailiff show Dean some of the pictures of his bruises. "Analyze those photographs, and every single one of them said that the placement, the size and the color of the bruises, suggests that you were hit or grabbed by someone."

"Well," Dean said, forcibly tearing his eyes away from the damage the spirit had caused. "I wasn't hit or grabbed by _him. _I know what happened, and it wasn't him."

"Then who was it?"

"I—I don't know, but it wasn't him."

"Alright," the prosecutor said, once he realized that he wouldn't get anywhere on that subject. "What about the night that the defendant was arrested-"

"I already talked about that-"

"You have to talk about it with _me_. What reason did he give you for running?"

"We didn't run-"

"Yes, you did," the prosecutor interjected. "You ran and were caught _outside _of the state. What reason did he give you for taking off like that?"

Dean shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut to attempt control over the tears that he could feel burning the edges of his eyes. It had been one thing to answer the same set of questions from Dawn, who had taken a _completely _different approach with him. With this man though, and the amount of pressure he was putting him under, it was staggering.

"He was trying to _protect _us," Dean said, his voice shaking with rage and hurt as some tears leaked uncontrollably out of his eyes.

"From _what_?"

"From the person that had taken my little brother a few weeks earlier."

"And who was that-"

"We _don't _know," Dean said, shaking his head. "All _we _knew was that we didn't want Sam being taken-"

"Why didn't he just confide in us about that-"

"I don't know," Dean said, "but we were scared of being separated!"

"So when you were traveling over state lines-"

"We were trying to make sure that the kidnapper didn't get us, and that we weren't separated-"

"So you _were _trying to run?"

"No-"

"That's what you _just _implied when you _said _that you were trying to run from whomever abducted Sam-"

"Yeah, we were!" Dean said. "He wasn't trying to kidnap us!"

"In the eyes of the law, that is _exactly_ what he did!"

Dean paused, trying his hardest to keep himself under control in the face of this hostile interrogator, who honestly didn't know he _or_ his family from a hole in the wall.

"He was trying to protect us," Dean said finally, "that's all I know."

"Protecting you by committing a federal offense? In our law," he explained to the already traumatized thirteen-year-old. "If you transport a child across state lines _without _legal authority to do so, that becomes _kidnapping._"

"We were not taken against our will-"

"Regardless, did he take you with the knowledge of the court order?"

"Yes, but-"

"No further questions."

* * *

The interrogation that he had been subjected to on the stand, had left Dean emotionally, as well as _physically_ exhausted. It had been one thing to endure Dawn's direct—exam, which had been easy on him, and not nearly as intense as the brutal cross—examination that the sadistic prosecutor had given him.

Once he had finally been allowed to leave the stand and return home, he immediately retreated to his bedroom, not wanting to engage with anyone, or talk about what he had to suffer through that day. Curling up under the covers, he allowed himself to lose it just for a few minutes.

He hoped that his testimony had been enough to cast doubt in the jury's minds, but he didn't know and that was what scared him. It had been wonderful to have been allowed that brief, physical contact with Caleb, and to be able to garner enough strength from the little, subtle cues he gave him while he was on the stand, but it had still been an emotionally charged day for him.

"Hi," Sam said, as he came into the room.

Once he had gotten home, he had made a straight beeline for his bedroom. So far, Sam had left him alone, and had been downstairs making dinner with Bobby.

"Is dinner ready?"

"No, almost."

"Okay," Dean said, as he removed the covers from over his head. "What's up, then?"

"How did it go today?"

"Crappy."

"Did you see Caleb?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I did."

"So how is he?" Sam asked, his eyes eager for more information on the guy that they _both _adored.

Dean shrugged, trying to ignore the pressing ache in the center of his chest that inevitably popped up whenever he thought about Caleb, and where he was and how he _didn't _deserve to be there.

"He's okay, I guess."

"Really?"

Dean nodded, closing his eyes as he bit down comfortingly on his bottom lip. "Yeah, he looked okay."

Not that they had had a _real_ chance to talk—not when all eyes were on them in court—and not when their every move was scrutinized, but the brief chance they had had, had been everything to him.

"Did you talk to him?"

"Kind of."

"_Kind _of?" Sam asked, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

"Yeah," Dean said, smiling at the memory that brief exchange had given him. "As I was walking between the two tables, he held his hand down for me to grab."

"Really?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah—kind of like a low—five," he said with a laugh. "Then he gave me some Caleb-like words of wisdom, and I got up there."

"Was it scary?"

"Kind of. With Dawn, it wasn't so bad," Dean said, "but when that dick of a prosecutor started doing his cross, it kind of got hard."

"Oh-"

"Dean," Bobby said, poking his head in the room. "Sorry to interrupt, but Caleb's on the phone."

"Oh, good," Dean said, hopping off his bed. "Thanks."

"You bet."

It had been gut—wrenching for Caleb to have to witness Dean going on the stand, and listen to the prosecutor tear into him about him. It had been even _worse_ knowing that there was nothing he could do to stop it from happening. Dawn jumped up whenever she could, but for the most part, she had to stay quiet while the prosecution got from him what they had wanted.

As soon as the rest of the proceedings had wrapped up and he had been allowed to go back to the jail, he hadn't wasted a second in calling and catching up with the boys, especially Sam. He hadn't spoken with the precocious nine-year-old in a few days, but he was anxious to see how Dean was coping with the weight of what had been placed on his shoulders that afternoon.

_Hey, _Dean said, as he came over the line.

"You did _so _good today," Caleb said.

_You think so_?" Dean asked uncertainly.

Caleb nodded, even though Dean had no way of seeing it. "Yes, I _absolutely _did."

_Thanks—it was nice, like, having you to look at whenever I got too freaked._

Whenever things got too intense with the questions that had been thrown at him, it had helped to be able to look at Caleb for his calm and reassuring guidance.

"Yeah," Caleb said softly. "I knew that would help you. But you did most of that on your own, you know?"

_Yeah—so what's going to happen now?_

"Dawn's going to call a few more witnesses, and then we're going to rest. Then the closing arguments will happen, and then-"

_And then the waiting game begins._

"Yeah."

It wasn't anything _either _of them were looking foreword to, and it was a position they would both have to be in sooner or later.

"Right."

_Are you going to testify?_

Dean knew that sometimes defendants testified in their own defense, and he was wondering if Caleb would do the same thing for himself.

"No," Caleb said. "Dawn and I talked it over, and we both came to the agreement that it would be better if I didn't."

_Why not? _

"Because," Caleb said, "there's already a bunch of lies associated with my name, and I'd be torn apart during the prosecution's cross-exam. It's better if we let the witnesses and the professionals do the talking."

_What does—what does Dawn think about our chances for acquittal? _

"She's hopeful," Caleb said honestly. "There's a lot of holes in the prosecution's case, and she's counting on the jury to realize that."

_Okay_," Dean said.

"I have to go," Caleb said, "I love you, dude. It was _so _good to see you today. Tell Sammy that I love him, and I had a good time talking to him today."

_Alright, I will. Love you, too._


	36. Chapter 36

For Caleb, it had been a relief, ironically, to be allowed to retreat to the relative quiet and peaceful jail setting, where he could be locked in his cell for the night without having to sit and listen to a DA slander his name, when he didn't know him or his love for those two boys from a hole in the wall.

"Who does the defense wish to call as their next witness?"

It was the second day of Dawn's case—the previous day, she had called Dean as her first witness once the case had been handed over to her. It had been an emotionally charged day for Caleb, who had had no choice but to listen to the sadistic prosecutor tear Dean apart on cross, even though it wouldn't take an idiot to know how upsetting it was for Dean to have to endure.

"The defense calls Dr. Whiter to the stand."

Dawn had talked to him about this witness—he was an expert in child psychology, as well as an expert in analyzing different pictures for the defense side. She had told Caleb that, while, he may not able to entirely dispute what the prosecution was saying, she was hoping that he would be able to give the jury another story to focus on other than the monster abuser the prosecution was painting her client out to be.

As Caleb watched the balding and graying man walk up to the bailiff to be sworn in, he tried to control the frantic pounding of his heart, as he finally took the witness stand. This was the one person who would possibly be able to contradict some of what the prosecution was saying, and he hoped that it would pay off in big ways.

"Please state your name for the record," Dawn said, as she approached the podium.

"Alan Whiter."

"And what is your profession?" Dawn asked, as she focused intently on the one witness that she was hoping would be able to annihilate the insane theories and stories that the prosecution kept spouting out for the jury to hear.

"I am a pediatrician for Steele County Pediatrics."

"And you can also effectively examine photographs submitted into evidence for trials?"

"Yes."

"What is your experience in handling those kinds of photographs?"

"I went through training in observing different X-rays and photographic evidence at Harmony College."

"Alright, and so you would be able to tell if an arm has been broken or sprained, right?"

"Yes."

"And you would be able to tell me if a person or something else, caused a bruise or a break, correct?"

"Yes."

With that revelation, Caleb released the breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding in, as he watched Dawn tackle this latest witness for them. If this man would be able to prove that the bruise marks went against what the prosecution was saying happened, it would be a major win for them, and an eye-opener in the eyes of the jury.

"So," Dawn said, as the bailiff handed the doctor the picture of Dean's bruise, the most severe one and the one that the case centered around. "With this photograph, would you be able to tell me if the arm had been broken or sprained?"

"Yes."

Caleb shook his head in complete astonishment. Not only at what this man was saying, but in genuine aw of how Dawn was, somehow, able to pull together these witnesses who had the power to completely unravel everything that the prosecution had so far spouted.

"And would you be able to tell me if the bruise marks were consistent with being grabbed or punched?"

"Yes."

"Okay," Dawn said, "so would it be fair to say that the marks on the arm, would be consistent with a bad fall on the cement?"

That would be the one question that would be critical for the man to answer—if it was consistent, that would automatically insert doubt into the jury's minds, and create another plausible story for what happened to Dean's arm, and back up his explanation for what had happened.

"Yes, that's entirely possible."

"How do you know?" she challenged, wanting to make sure she covered all her bases.

"The placement and the discoloration of the bruises, would be in line with something like a fall happening."

"Alright," she said, "and would this type of bruise need medical treatment?"

"I would say so, yes."

"But it wouldn't be awful if it didn't get it?"

"No, it certainly wouldn't be fatal."

"Okay," she said, as she paced slowly across the room. "Would it be possible for a bruise mark like that to be caused by someone grabbing or punching someone?"

That would also be another crucial question for him to answer—were the marks severe enough to be caused by another person, and Caleb was curious as to how he would choose to answer that one.

"No," he said. "Based on the coloring of the bruises and the placement of them, it would be impossible."

"Okay," she said, "and you're certain of this?"

"Yes. For someone to make a grab for someone and cause that amount of damage, it would have to be caused by someone _inhuman_."

The doctor had no idea just how true his words were—and Caleb couldn't believe that everything the prosecution and CPS had based their case on, was being thrown back into their face, as this man sat on the stand and refuted everything they had said so far.

"Okay," Dawn said, "and what about it being a possible break or sprain?" she asked, targeting another one of the more asinine theories that the prosecution and CPS had come up with. "Is it possible that the arm was broken from that bruise?"

"No."

Caleb shook his head in complete relief, and also incredulity.

"Why not?"

"The arm isn't swollen," the doctor explained. "For it to be broken or sprained, the arm has to be bent at a grotesque angle, and it isn't. The pain would have to be unbearable."

"So it would render him incapable of lifting his arm at all?"

"Yes."

"So you're saying," Dawn said, making sure she had locked the man into his opinion. "That it would have to be impossible for him to have obtained those bruises from a human being?"

"Yes."

"And it would be impossible for the arm to be broken?"

"In my professional opinion, yes."

"And it would have to be entirely possible for him to have gotten it from falling accidentally?"

"Yes."

"No further questions."

* * *

"Hey."

"Hey," Dean said, as he looked up from the television program he was watching.

"Dawn's prepared to call her final witness."

Dean had been afraid of that-it had come down to the final day of the trial, and he knew he wasn't ready for it to end. It had been one thing to know of the charges against Caleb and the harsh penalty he was facing if he was convicted, but it was another thing altogether to know that they were nearing the conclusion.

"She _is?_"

"Yeah," Bobby said softly. "A child psychologist."

"So they can tell the jury that we never _acted _like we were being abused."

"Right."

Dean nodded, as he batted away fresh tears of sorrow. "Okay."

"Are you okay?" Bobby asked gently.

"Yeah, I guess."


	37. Chapter 37

It should have been a familiar routine to Caleb—getting chained up like a common criminal to go to court—but he never _quite _got over that humiliation and embarrassment at being restrained like that, when he _knew _the truth, when he _knew_ that he wasn't some dangerous monster abuser that the courts and prosecution had made him out to be.

Still, it was something that he had to endure each morning of the trial proceedings, and as much as he _hated_ it, he tolerated it with gritted teeth and shut up about it so he could get it over with that much sooner.

It wasn't long to the courthouse—only a few blocks—and the anxiety he felt on that particular morning, was making him slightly nauseous as the police car bumped and jolted down the road in time with the chaotic rush-hour traffic.

It was the final morning of Dawn's case—in the hopes of bolstering her defense that there was no solid proof to go on that he had abused the boys, she had called a few witnesses that would really heighten her theory, instead of the dozen that the prosecution had called to further enhance their ridiculous and weak arguments that he had abused and then kidnapped the boys.

From what he had been told, she would be calling an expert child psychologist to give the jurors the belief that the boys had never displayed the classic signs of abuse that most had come to associate with, and that Dean's own actions in light of his arrest, showcased _nothing _but a fear of not _him_, but the outside forces trying to separate them.

It was _still _nerve-wracking to know that, after today, they would be resting and the case would be in the hands of the jury, who had heard all the same evidence that everyone else had listened to, but would have the ultimate power of deciding whether or not it all led back to him or not.

As the guards led him down the empty, intermingling halls to the correct courtroom, he tried to breathe through the pressing panic that he felt, as the guards undid his restraints and led him into the courtroom, and over to the defense table where Dawn was already seated.

"Hey," he whispered, as he looked over at her.

"Hi," Dawn said, looking over at him. "Are you okay?"

"Can I answer that _after _today?"

She didn't comment, merely laughed once, as she got her notes ready for presentation. "This guy I have coming onto the stand today, he should be able to seal the final nail in the coffin."

"And wipe out that _dick's _case?"

The prosecution's main theory that Dean had gotten the marks from him, had been obliterated when a pediatrician had taken the stand, and had informed the court that it would have been _impossible _for Dean to have gotten the marks from a human from being grabbed or punched, and that Dean's story that he had fallen and slipped on the cement, would have been entirely plausible.

Caleb hoped that whatever this final witness said, it would be enough to override the prosecution's case, and grant doubt in the jury's minds, and therefore be enough to acquit him based off of reasonable doubt. It was a long-shot, especially with how his luck had worked out for him lately, but it was the only hope he had of this thing ending peacefully, and allow him to enjoy a permanent reunion with the kids.

"Hopefully," she said, giving him a wry look. "You can never be _sure_, especially with the prosecution's cross-exam, but we're throwing everything out there that makes sense, and hopefully it will be enough to tarnish Mark Williamson's credibility."

"I hope," Caleb said, as the judge entered, and they stood. "You really think we can go out with a bang?" he asked, as they sat back down.

"If everything goes according to plan."

While the judge rattled off some minor formalities associated with that day's hearing, Caleb tried to relax as he tried _not_ to look at the jury, who would be scrutinizing his every move, his every action, as he looked at what Dawn was writing.

"I received note that the defense plans to rest today?" the judge asked, looking over at Dawn for verbal confirmation.

"Yes, Your Honor," Dawn said, standing up.

"And will your client be testifying?" the judge asked.

"No," Dawn said.

"Alright," the judge said, before addressing Caleb. "Just to be clear, it is _your _decision _not _to testify, is that correct?"

"Yes, sir," Caleb said, standing up to address the judge, before sitting back down.

"Does the defense plan on calling any final witnesses?"

"Yes," Dawn said.

"Who may that be?"

"Your Honor," Dawn said, standing up. "The defense calls Alan Pelletier to the stand."

The child psychologist that she had told Caleb about—Caleb watched as the man made his way up to the front of the room. Get sworn in by the bailiff, and then proceeded to make his way toward the witness box to begin his long morning of testimony.

"Please state your name for the record," Dawn said, beginning her final direct-exam of the trial.

"Alan Pelletier."

"Can you please name your occupation for the jury?"

"Yes," he said, leaning foreword, closer to the mic. "I am a child psychologist."

"Where is your place of occupation?"

"Steele County Child and Family Counseling Services."

"Alright," Dawn said, "what kind of degree and experience do you have?"

"I have a Masters degree, and I have been working in my current field for fifteen years."

Dawn nodded, as she focused intently on her final witness. "Do you have experience working with children who have been involved in traumatic circumstances?"

"I do."

"Are you able to correctly deduce whether a child has been abused or not?"

"It's not always an exact science," he explained carefully, "but I can get an idea based off their body language, their responses, and the amount of eye contact they make with me."

"Eye contact can mean-"

"It can mean a lot of things," he explained patiently. "It can mean they're lying, telling the truth or hiding some facts."

"And you can tell based off a variety of different physical, as well as emotional responses, that a child has been abused or not?"

"Yes."

"Okay," Dawn said, "you interviewed Sam and Dean Winchester yesterday, correct?"

"I did."

As part of building the final aspects of her case, she had cleared it with Bobby to have the psychologist come in and talk with both of the boys, and get an understanding of what they were thinking, of what their thoughts were about Caleb, and if they showcased any of the signs of abuse or neglect that most experts had come to recognize.

"What were your general impressions? Did they seem to be happy, normal, well—adjusted kids?"

Caleb knew this would be a crucial question for him to answer—if they had been so badly mistreated like the prosecution would like to believe, they would have to display some of the classic signs associated with it, and Caleb was hoping that he would flat out disprove their insane theories.

"They did."

With that, Caleb released the breath that he hadn't even realized he'd been holding in. It was a major win for them, especially with the knowledge that the jury was taking all of this in as they listened to the witness on the stand.

"When they spoke about the defendant, was it with fear? Or was it in a loving sort of a way?"

"Definitely very positive and very, yes, loving."

Dawn nodded. "Alright. Did they look like to _you _that they had been abused in any way?"

"No."

"No further questions."

* * *

After court had ended for the day, Caleb followed the same pattern that he had adopted since being allowed to call the boyd Once he was clear to use the phone, he took full advantage of that privilege, as he placed the same call to the boys, that he did every single night of the world. It was something they _both _looked foreword to, especially after a long, trying day.

_Hi_, Sam said, his small voice coming through the line, after Caleb had talked to Dean. He could tell _something _was bothering the usually bubbly and energetic kid.

"Hey, buddy," Caleb said, "how are you doing?"

_Alright—Bobby said that we couldn't go back to school yet._

Caleb could tell that Sam was disappointed about it. The kid lived for that academic setting, and being able to play soccer and see his friends, but he understood _why_ Bobby was vetoing that idea at the moment. It was still too precarious with the school, and especially the higher powers in that building that had created their nightmare.

"I'm sorry, dude," Caleb said, as he leaned against the wall. "Is Bobby letting you see some of your friends, though?"

_Yeah—last night, we actually had a sleepover over here._

Caleb smiled at the enthusiasm in Sam's voice. "Really? I'm glad."

_It was a lot of fun. It would have been nicer if _you_ had been there, _Sam added after a second.

Caleb nodded. "I _want_ to be there. You know that, Sammy."

_I know—I haven't seen you in, like, _two months_, and Dean got to see you but I haven't._

"Right now, it's still too weird," Caleb said, trying to reason with him. "The case is over. Closing arguments are tomorrow. Hopefully, fingers crossed, the jury will choose to acquit me, and I'll be able to come home."

There wasn't anything he wanted _more_ than to be able to come home and be a part of their lives again. If there was one aspect of being incarcerated that was the hardest, it was being separated from the two people that meant the _most_ to him in the world.

_I know, _Sam said, _Bobby said that your attorney put on a good case?_

"She did. With any luck, the jury will choose to buy _that_ instead of the lie."

_We miss you around here. _

"Well, I miss you guys, too."

_Am I still your buddy?_

"Absolutely—you _both_ are."

_I love you._

"I love you too, Sammy."


	38. Chapter 38

He had been through this once before in his life, but somehow that didn't erase the pressing panic that Caleb felt as he walked into the courtroom for the start of closing arguments. A year previously when he had endured his murder trial, he had had to suffer through the mountainous pile of evidence the prosecution had, and then at the end, their brutal closing to the jury, and how _all_ the evidence magically pointed in _his_ direction.

Now he was in the same boat again—faced with a different set of charges—but with nearly the same penalty attached to them—possible life imprisonment if he was found guilty of the most severe charge he was accused of.

Even though he tried to work through it in his mind and reconcile himself to the fact that he may never be free again, that he may never be as much a part of the boys' lives as he was used to, it was still sobering to connect those horrifying dots with reality, as he allowed the bailiff to lead him over to the defense table.

As usual, even though he was having a min-break down internally, Dawn was the picture of composure as she jotted down a few final notes in her closing statement, as she glanced up to acknowledge his presence. During the entire course of these proceedings, she had been the guiding light that he had needed to keep himself safely afloat, and he could only hope that a jury wouldn't buy into the asinine theories that the opposing party had sold to them.

It would be Dawn's one final shot at convincing them that he wasn't the monster abuser that the prosecution had made him out to be, and while he knew from personal experience that she was an _excellent_ lawyer, especially when it came to opening and closing arguments, he couldn't help but feel the pressure _himself_, as he tried to think of anything but that morning.

"Hey," he said, by way of greeting.

He was surprised at how cracked and raw his voice was—a side effect of suffering through little to no sleep the previous night, as he anticipated the conclusion of a case that had haunted him for nearly two months.

"Hi," she said, taking a break from her frantic writing to spare him a glance. "Scared to death?" she asked bluntly, sensing perhaps, just how terrified her client was in that moment.

"Hell yes," he said with a sigh. "In a way, I'm glad this is ending, but in another way _completely_, I'm not."

It would be nice not to have to suffer through day after day of court hearings and countless hours of witness testimony, but that was minor compared to the very real hell he would go through while waiting for the impossible decision the jury would hand down.

"It will be okay," she promised. "I have a good outline for what I'm going to say, and most of it will be common sense stuff that the jury _should_ have been able to pick up on their own."

"Right—but what if the jury agrees with them that they've got the law on their side? At least where it concerns the kidnapping rap?"

"Well," she said, "we'll cross that road when we come to it, but they can't ignore the fact that there's almost _zero_ evidence to implicate you in the abuse and neglect charges, and that's something I'll cover during my closing."

At least _someone_ had a clear head—he was panicking more and more by the second, as the judge entered the room, and they all rose. It was comforting to get the distraction of the commotion that the proceedings gave him, but it didn't ease the intense nausea that he felt, as he turned briefly in his seat to glance over at Bobby.

The older hunter gave him a tight smile in response—there wasn't much else he could physically do to offer his support—but Caleb was grateful for it all the same, as he tried to relax in his seat while the judge rattled off a final set of instructions to the jury, before calling the prosecutor to start his closing.

It was a shame that the court politics put Mark Williamson ahead of Dawn—it would have been priceless to Caleb to watch his entire case be blown to smithereens, and then have to watch as he scrambled to pick up the pieces during his closing, but he had to content himself with the fact that Dawn would have her turn, eventually, to pick holes in their case, even if she couldn't be first.

As the sadistic man got up to deliver his final statement to the jury, Caleb tried to force himself to keep his focus on the prosecutor, even though he felt nothing but contempt and hatred for what this person had done to him, and the overzealous way he had pursued him and tormented he and the boys with his senseless allegations.

"Good morning," Mark said, as he placed both hands on either side of the podium. "First off, I would like to thank these twelve men and women for sacrificing their time during these last few weeks," he said, as he turned briefly to face the jury. "I said at the beginning that our goal would be to hurry this case along as much as we could, and I believe we accomplished that."

Caleb resisted the urge to roll his eyes at this man's bravado, as he and Dawn traded glances with each other. It was nothing short of what they had expected from him, but hearing this man verbally tear into him, was still something he hadn't quite gotten used to, as he had no choice but to sit and listen for over an hour while the man laid out all the evidence _his_ side had collected to convict him.

"The truth is," Mark said, "we can debate all day about where the marks came from. I believe our evidence points to the defendant. We had experts on this stand tell you that, even if it wasn't at _his_ hands, it should have been something a doctor looked at.

But, one thing that is _not_ debatable, is the fact that on September 22, Caleb Rivers committed a federal offense when he, after receiving knowledge of the court order stating that he had to surrender custody, fled with the boys over the state lines.

No matter what his intentions were—whether he meant to harm them or to protect them from something, he was still committing the crime of kidnapping. Our laws are very clear where it concerns that, and that is what he did when he willingly and in full awareness of his actions, took them."

Caleb shook his head incredulously—it wasn't anything that he hadn't expected, but it was still incredibly difficult to sit and listen while this man tore him apart, and not be able to do anything to defend himself.

"You have the obligation," Mark said, as he finally wrapped up his closing, "to either convict or acquit based on the evidence that was presented to you over the course of this trial. The evidence, where it concerns the kidnapping charge, is overwhelming. You have no other choice _but_ to convict him based on the fact that he admitted it," he said, counting on his fingers, "he took them across state lines with full awareness of the court order against him, and that is something that is indisputable."

Grateful when the man finally finished his grueling closing arguments, Caleb was relieved that a short lunch break broke the court for the afternoon, before the closing arguments resumed. This time, he was much more inclined to listen when Dawn got _her_ turn to deliver her case to the jury.

"This all started," she said slowly, "with two boys. Sam and Dean Winchester—they lost their parents in very tragic circumstances, and with no one else to raise them, their dear family friends, Caleb Rivers and Jim Murphy took them in, and raised and loved them as though they were their own flesh and blood."

Caleb smiled—at least he was being portrayed in an accurate light as opposed to the skewed version that the prosecution clearly had of him.

"Over the years, they have formed into a tight-knit, loving family. They lost Jim Murphy a few months ago, leaving Caleb as their sole day-to-day guardian. When you ask these boys," she said, as she faced the jury briefly. "What they think of my client, their responses are immediate. He's amazing, he's loving, and he's kind.

These boys, in their own words, told you _exactly_ what you need to know to render a not guilty verdict where it concerns the abuse and neglect charges. The idea, to them, that he could be charged with hurting them, is _inconceivable,_ when all they have known is a loving and caring and capable guardian."

Caleb found himself nodding along with her words—it was true—those boys knew _nothing_ but the person he was when he was around them, and the love he held in his heart for them, and their well being, and he was glad that Dawn was representing that fact to the jury.

"Dean, himself, _told_ you that he was _never_ abused by the defendant—he never abused me, he never took us against our will, is what he told you. A bruise that was the heart of the State's case, was proven to be _nothing_ but a fall on the ground. An expert in these sorts of matters, told you that for a human being to punch or grab someone and cause that type of bruising, is virtually _impossible_."

When Dawn had officially been handed the case, she hadn't called many witnesses, but she _had_ called the few that had been able to blow apart the prosecution's sloppy case, and had exposed the truth behind their careless allegations and exposed them for what they _really_ were.

"When it comes to the abuse and neglect charges, you heard it from the alleged victim himself. It never happened, and you heard the experts that interviewed _both_ of the boys, say that they didn't see it, either. You have reasonable doubt as it relates to those charges, and in our laws and in our country, that is enough to acquit.

Where it concerns the kidnapping charge," she said carefully, "we _do_ have laws in our country that define what that means. Especially when a child is taken when a court order has been issued saying that custody has been terminated. We know that obviously, but what I am asking you to do, is look at the motivation, look at the facts as it pertains to _this _case."

Caleb hoped what she was saying was enough—too much was riding on the jury believing her—mainly his life, and he hoped that the jury would be shrewd enough to recognize the special circumstances surrounding this case.

"It's sealed in police records," Dawn continued, "but right before he lost custody, Sam was taken from his school, a place where he was supposed to be safe, and thankfully, their nightmare ended in his safe recovery, but the reason why my client did what he did, was simply to protect the children, and make sure they were safe from harm, and from being separated from one another.

While you are in deliberations, I ask that you examine all the evidence for what it is, and render an appropriate verdict based solely on the evidence presented to you."

* * *

It was terrifying for Dean—Bobby had come home immediately after the proceedings had wrapped up, and had told him the news that he had both dreaded and anticipated with equal measure—the case had officially been handed to the jury.

The jury watch was something that he had had to suffer through once before when Caleb had been on trial for murder, but this, somehow, was worse. They stood to lose a lot more this time around, and that was what Dean was _most_ concerned about, as he took to a familiar old habit in times of stress:

Pacing.

For some reason, it soothed him. As his legs worked across the floor, he tried to lose himself in that comforting feeling. It distracted his mind, and it gave his body something to do _other_ than lose it in the nausea that he was constantly feeling, as he tried to shut out the thoughts that reminded him of how incredibly fortunate they would be to dodge another bullet like this one.

The kidnapping charge was the one that they were most concerned about, and the one that the jury would be most likely to find fault with him on.

"Dean?"

"Yeah, Bobby?" he asked, as he momentarily halted his pacing to look over at the grizzled hunter.

"Caleb's on the phone."

"Oh, good."

Hoping that talking to Caleb, would provide another much needed release from the crippling stress he had been trying to work through, he followed Bobby out into the living room where Sam was finishing up his talk with him.

"Hey," Dean said, as he took a seat on the couch next to Bobby and Sam.

_Hey, dude. How are you?_

"Crappy," Dean replied honestly, as he shielded his face from his brother and Bobby. "What about you?"

_About the same as you are. I just talked to Dawn, and there's no word yet on what the jury is deciding. They've been in there for the past few hours._

"Is that good or bad?"

_The longer they take to decide, the easier the chances are of me being acquitted. If they suddenly come back with a quick verdict, it generally doesn't bode well for the accused._

Dean nodded, swallowing back the influx of vomit that rose in the back of his throat. The fact that the jury was taking so long to decide, was a slightly positive thing for him to focus on. It meant that they were carefully examining the evidence, and trying to make an appropriate decision based on what they had in front of them.

"So what is Dawn saying?"

_She's hopeful—with the fact that the jury is taking so long, she's hoping that it means we're finally headed in the right direction. _

It would certainly be refreshing after so many letdowns and disappointments—for something to finally go right—and in the most amazing of ways, would definitely be an upgrade from all the hell he had been going through recently.

"Right, so what happens if you get acquitted of the charges-"

_I'll be released._

"And then you can come home?" Dean asked hopefully.

_Yes._

"Okay, I love you, dude."

_Love you, too._

* * *

The jury deliberated into the rest of the day, and well into the next morning. It was terrifying to be in that position to wait, but it was also a breather from the last time, where the jury had reached a verdict within hours of being handed the case.

It still didn't make it any easier on Caleb, as he tried to wait out the excruciating time between waiting for the decision to be handed down, and walking into the courtroom to hear the verdict that he was both dreading and anticipating in equal measure.

Finally, he got the call.

_Hi_, Dawn said, her usually calm and even voice, slightly rushed.

"What is it?" he asked, trying to breathe through the panic that he could feel traveling through his veins. "Did they-"

_They reached a verdict._


	39. Chapter 39

His legs resembling the feel of Jell—0, Caleb allowed the guards to do what they had to do in order to transport him back to the courthouse. By his estimations, the jury had been in deliberations a few hours short of two days, and by courtroom standards, that was a long time to be deliberating a case like this.

Still, as they finally loaded him into the back of the police car and began the (seemingly) _long _journey downtown to the courthouse, he couldn't help but let a little bit of doubt creep into his bloodstream. There was too much riding on this day to be a success, and all of his cynicism was starting to reappear with the knowledge that, within an hour, he would be learning his fate as the jury saw it.

Swallowing back the role of vomit that rose in his throat, he tried to draw breath through the panic that he was feeling, as the car finally turned and rolled into the underground parking garage where they usually took him in from.

Closing his eyes briefly against the nausea, he tried not to let his feelings cloud his face as the guards opened the back door, and let him get out. As they led him into the building, through the elevator, and up to the third floor where the verdicts would be read, he imagined a miracle where he would be acquitted, and he would be able to walk out a free, liberated man.

And more importantly, be able to go back home and be with the boys. It wouldn't matter if he, technically, wasn't supposed to see them yet, or didn't have any custodial rights to them. It would be enough just to _be _with them, and be able to resume the incredible relationship the three (now the _four _of them) shared with one another.

Snapping back to his brutal reality when the guards stopped him outside the courtroom doors to undo his restraints, he tried to imagine a reality where he wouldn't have to walk with chains around his ankles, wrists and waist, and would be able to walk _freely._

Hopefully, after today, he would be able to do that again. Hopefully, the jury would see right through the prosecution's fanatical obsession with him, and see the motivation behind the alleged kidnapping, and how he would never _dream _of hurting _either_ of the boys.

As the guards walked him into the semi-packed courtroom, his eyes automatically searched out Bobby in the throng of people. He wasn't hard to spot—with the conspicuous trucker cap, and grizzled face, as he gave Caleb a small, encouraging smile, letting him know that he had his back through this.

Nodding briefly to show his acknowledgment, he sank down into his seat next to Dawn. Instead of the usual, frantic note writing that she was usually doing right before a hearing, she was calm, composed, as she met his anxious glance with one of her own, quiet ones.

"Hi," she whispered. "Are you ready?"

"In how many ways can I answer no?"

He _wasn't _ready for this—not at all. He wasn't ready to hear which side had won. He wasn't ready to hear that he might possibly go to jail for the rest of his life, and he wasn't prepared for an answer that might result in him losing the boys for _good_.

All of these clustered feelings, contributed to his queasiness as they rose for the judge when he finally entered, and then again when the jury was called in.

Swiping a hand over his face, he tried to draw an even breath as the judge discussed minor formalities associated with the reading of the verdicts, but for the most part, he tried to drown out anything that was _not _related to the conclusion of a hearing that had haunted him for _weeks_ upon _weeks_.

"Does the State recognize the presence of the jury?" the judge asked, directing his attention to the stone-faced prosecutors.

"Yes."

"And does the defense?"

"Yes, we do," Dawn said, nodding.

"Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen of the jury," the judge said, as he directly addressed the team of twelve men and women that had been given the impossible task of determining Caleb's guilt or innocence as it pertained to the charges against him. "Have you reached a verdict?"

"Yes," they all echoed.

The verbal confirmation only increased the insane pounding of Caleb's heart, as it thundered erratically against his ribcage.

"Would you hand the verdict form to the court deputy, please?"

Caleb and Dawn watched in complete silence as the bailiff walked foreword to the jury box, and retrieved the verdict statement from the foreperson. It was nerve-wracking to watch, as the bailiff handed the forms to the judge for his inspection, before he handed it down to the clerk to read aloud.

"Will the defendant please rise along with counsel?"

His legs resembling the feel of water, Caleb stood shakily along with Dawn. His mouth dry to the bone, he forced himself to stare at the jury, as he waited for the verdicts to be read.

"It's okay," Dawn whispered, seeing how terrified Caleb was.

"Madam Clerk, you may publish the verdicts."

Sparing one more glance at Bobby, Caleb closed his eyes, trying to gain control over himself before he lost it completely. Whatever these people had decided, he would have no choice but to live with, and he wasn't sure he was _ready_ for that.

"In the circuit court for the ninth judicial circuit, in Steele County Minnesota. State of Minnesota versus Caleb Rivers, case number 1992CF23009. As to the charge of first degree abuse of a child, verdict as to count one, we the jury find the defendant not guilty."

Caleb could feel himself relax in just the slightest.

So far so good.

"As to the charge of first degree abuse of a child, verdict as to count two, we the jury find the defendant not guilty. As to the charge of first degree neglect of a child, verdict as to count three, we the jury find the defendant not guilty."

Caleb had a hard time controlling his emotions, as he glanced briefly over at Bobby, who had the same look of incredulous relief on his face. For once, things were beginning to go his way, as he turned back to face the jury.

"We got this," Dawn whispered, reaching her hand down to hold his.

"I know," he whispered.

And for once, he _really _believed that, as he prepared himself to hear the publishing of the next two verdicts, although there was no doubt in his mind that it would be the exact same outcome, and he was feeling lightheaded from the sheer exultation at the fact that _someone_ finally recognized the truth about him.

"As to the charge," the clerk said, as she read the next verdict. "Of first degree neglect of a child, verdict as to count four, we the jury find the defendant not guilty."

This was it—the final verdict—the one that had the potential of putting him behind bars for the _rest_ of his _life_. As Dawn tightened his grip on his hand, he tried to keep his composure together for the split second it took for her to publish the final verdict.

"As to the charge of of first degree kidnapping of a child, verdict as to count five, we the jury find the defendant guilty."

For a second, Caleb couldn't breathe, he was in complete and utter _shock_ that a jury had acquitted him of all the abuse and neglect charges, but had found him guilty on the most severe charge, the one that had the power of putting him in _prison _for life.

For a heartbreaking minute, he allowed himself to revel in the impossible notion that the jury had misspoken, that they _hadn't _just declared him guilty, as he was consciously aware of the hug that Dawn was trying to give him, no doubt to offer him as much comfort as she could, even though he was rapidly moving past the shock that had clouded his judgment, to absolute devastation.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, as he finally accepted the hug with trembling hands. "We'll figure this out, okay? It's not over, not by a long-shot."

"H-how?"

This was the charge that he had been _most _afraid of, and the one that he had been convicted on. Unless Dawn could pull a serious miracle and either reverse the decision, or get him off on a lighter sentence, he would be going to prison.

"I-"

She didn't get a chance to answer. The judge was calling everyone's attention again, and as they sat back down, Caleb could see the prosecutor's smug face, no doubt thrilled that he had managed to score a conviction on the _one _charge that he had gunned for the jury to find him guilty on. His arrogant behavior disgusted Caleb on the best of days, but now, on the _worst _of days, all Caleb could feel was a blind hatred for this man, who might have just doomed him to prison for life.

"A jury of your peers," the judge said, looking over at Caleb. "Has found you to be _not _guilty of four counts of first degree abuse and neglect charges. Therefore, I adjudge you to be not guilty. A jury of your peers has also found you to be _guilty _for the crime of first degree kidnapping of a child, therefore I adjudge you to be guilty."

Caleb nodded, not able to stop the single tear that ran down his cheek—it had been the outcome that he had been dreading having happen, and it _had. _Even if Dawn _could _pull off a miracle and have this somehow go away, how long would it take? How much longer would he have to sit and rot in a jail cell?

"Your Honor," Dawn said, standing up. "I was wondering if there was _any _way my client could _possibly _get out until sentencing-"

"No. He needs to be in custody until sentencing is resolved."

"Okay, is it possible to settle sentencing _today_, then?"

"The only time we have on the calender for sentencing, is January 1st."

Caleb bowed his head—shaking his head incredulously—two months felt like a lifetime, especially with the two that he had _already _spent behind bars, and with no guarantee that Dawn would be able to mount an affective defense in that time to get him out of a harsh sentence, the feeling of hopelessness was only _just_ starting to affect him.

"You're _sure_," Dawn said, "that he can't spend this time out under close supervision?"

"I'm sure, yes."

"Okay, thank you."

* * *

Immediately after the verdict and the sentencing date that the judge had set, Caleb was transported _back _to the county jail that had been his home and bedroom for the last two months. With the possibility of spending an extended period of time behind bars, the jail had scheduled for him to be transferred to one of their longer term facilities in a detention center.

A detention center was a step closer to prison—it meant that the jail officials _assumed _that he would be in their system long-term, and that knowledge made him sick to his stomach, as he struggled to find some way to come to grips with his new reality, and found it impossible.

Not when he was left alone with his crippling thoughts—hearing that he had been found innocent of the first several charges against him, had given him a dangerous false sense of security as he had waited for the final verdicts to be read.

It had been the most horrible surprise of his life when the jury had read the guilty verdict for the kidnapping charge—they obviously hadn't cared about the circumstances surrounding the alleged 'abduction' and had chosen the prosecution's skewed version of events over the facts of the case.

Almost right after he had gotten back to the jail, Dawn came to see him. Even though he would have loved to have placed the blame on _her _for not mounting a strong enough defense when it concerned the kidnapping rap, he knew it wasn't her fault. She had done everything she could to make sure that the charges had gone away smoothly.

"Hi," she said, her usually resolute face, softening at the complete look of desolation on his face. "I know this is a stupid question, but how are you?"

Over the last few years they had known each other—she had become _more _than an attorney to him—they had become friends, and he was relying on her acting on _both _of her roles in order to ensure that he got through this in one piece.

"I can't even come up with the words," he said shakily. "I thought we were in the clear once they had acquitted me on the first four charges, and then when they said 'guilty' for kidnapping, I went blank."

Dawn nodded sympathetically. "Like I said back there, this isn't over yet."

"What does that mean?"

For months, all he had heard from her was that if he was convicted of the kidnapping charge, he would be facing a life sentence in the state prison for it. The idea that there could be another alternative, was slightly optimistic to him, as he tried to fixate on that possibility, and not the very real fear he had of going to prison.

"For some _circumstances_," she warned carefully, "the judge will impose probation instead of prison time."

"How long would I get probation?" he asked.

Not that it would _matter—_he would rather be home and have to answer to a probation office, then be stuck in a jail cell for years upon years. If there was a way out, he would gladly take it without a second thought.

"It varies depending on the circumstances—more than likely, since this is a first, serious conviction on your record, the judge will want to go for the minimum sentence, which would be seven years."

"Seven years of probation?"

"Correct."

"Is the life sentence still on the table?"

Dawn nodded. "The judge has a certain set of guidelines that he has to follow when imposing a sentence, and that _is _one of the options on the plate."

"Dawn," he hesitated. "Do _you _think that I'll get life?"

"I...I highly doubt it. Whenever there's a serious conviction like this, the judge will consider mitigating factors, and it's proven that Sam w_as _taken by an unknown abductor, and all of those will factor into the judge's decision."

"So for now-"

"For now, you'll be in custody until the sentencing hearing."

"Which is?"

"In two months."

* * *

Bobby almost dreaded going home and informing the boys, (especially Dean), of Caleb's conviction. When the jury had cleared him of the first several charges against him, Bobby had naturally assumed that they wouldn't have an issue with acquitting him of the kidnapping charge, but he had been wrong.

The idea that he would have to go home and inform Dean that the person he loved and adored, had been convicted of the bogus charge of kidnapping him, and would be facing a possible life sentence in the state prison, was horrifying to him.

As he turned into the driveway of their home, he paused, scrubbing a hand over his face as he tried to contemplate the impossible, unforgivable task ahead of him. It would be one thing to know that he had been convicted and would face sentencing, it would be another thing for the kids to realize that they would have to wait another possible two _months _to finally be able to be reunited with him.

"Hey," Bobby said, as he walked into the living room where the boys had been lounging on the sofa together.

Sam, not to his surprise, had a book firmly clasped in his hand, and Dean was playing a video game. Anything to get their minds off the verdict that had haunted their lives for the past several weeks.

"Hey," Dean said, hesitantly throwing his video game controller off to the side as he jumped to his feet. "What happened?"

"The jury-"

Right before he was about to announce the heartbreaking news, the phone rang. Giving the boys a look, he went into the kitchen where the phone was, to answer it.

"Hello?"

_Hey, _Caleb said, his exhausted voice coming over the other line. _I figured you'd be back by now. _

"Just walked in actually," Bobby said, keeping one eye on the boys and the other on the phone.

_Did you tell them?_

"Not yet."

Each second that went by that he _didn't _tell them, it increased his anxiety over having to be the one to do it. It broke his heart, knowing that the boys were getting closer and closer to losing yet another person in their lives.

_Let me tell them. It might sound easier coming from me._

Even though Bobby had no idea how Caleb would possibly be able to muster up the courage to tell the boys of his conviction, when he could barely speak straight to _Bobby_ without having to pause to collect himself.

"Are you sure you're up for that?"

_No, but I need to tell them._

"Okay. Dean," Bobby said, glancing over at the stricken thirteen-year-old, who knew by now, that _something _was wrong, especially since Caleb hadn't come home with Bobby like he had anticipated. "It's for you."

"Who—who is it?" Dean asked, although a part of him _knew_, and he was dreading having to have more bad news pile down on his already crowded shoulders.

Bobby didn't answer as he held the phone out for him. "Here."

"Thanks." Taking a deep breath to collect himself, he paused before putting it up to his ear. "H—hello?"

_Hey, dude_, Caleb said.

"Where are you?" Dean asked, by way of greeting.

_I need to talk to you and Sammy. _

"About _what_?"

_The verdict._


	40. Chapter 40

In the often unpredictable and dangerous hunting world they lived in, Dean had come to trust the intuition that it had given him. Especially when it concerned something potentially serious, and even though it was a skill that he had honed well over the few years he had actively been involved in jobs, it still never failed to shock him when his intuition, which had served him well on several occasions, failed him.

The entire morning, he had been cautiously optimistic that Caleb would walk through the door with Bobby, after the jury had rightfully declared his innocence. Even though it had been slightly confusing _not _to see his face, Dean had summed it up to Caleb finalizing some last minute details with Dawn or something, but had never _actually _considered something _else _going on.

"What's going on?" Dean asked, as he twisted the phone cord around his finger, as he let his body lean back against the wall, needing the extra support as he tried to breathe through the steady incline of panic.

_The jury_, Caleb said deliberately, as though he was trying to keep himself under control from further emotional strain. _They acquitted me on those abuse and neglect charges._

The charges that had been absolutely _ridiculous _to Dean—it had been one thing to accuse him of fraud and even murder when there had been evidence to support it, but when they had come up against the kidnapping and abuse charges, it had made _zero _sense to Dean, even though his brain had tried to rationalize it some.

"Yeah," Dean said, as though that made perfect sense to him, and it did. "So where are you?"

If he had been found not guilty like he _knew _Caleb _would _be, then where was he? Why hadn't he walked in through the door with Bobby? And why weren't they celebrating his release and acquittal?

_Dean, _Caleb said carefully, and Dean could tell that he was trying to keep his voice under control so it wouldn't freak him out. _They found me not guilty on the abuse and neglect charges, but they convicted me on the kidnapping charge. _

For a split second, time suspended itself completely, as Dean tried to wrap his mind around what Caleb had just told him. It seemed impossible to him that a jury who had heard the same evidence that the prosecution and defense had put out, would choose on the side of the prosecution, and choose to convict him.

"They _what_?" Dean whispered brokenly, feeling a sob build in the back of his throat, as he raised a trembling hand to attempt control over his battered emotions.

_They found me guilty, Dean. The jury, somehow, believed the lies that the prosecutor told them._

"But I don't understand-"

_I don't, either, _Caleb said, with a shaky laugh. _For some reason, the special circumstances didn't seem to matter to them too much, and they sided with the people that have absolutely _no _idea what they're even talking about. _

Dean shook his head in devastated incredulity, as he tried to draw breath through the sobs that were coming forcefully by now. It was the worst possible outcome that he could have imagined, and it was the one that had happened to them. After all the loss they had suffered through, especially with losing Jim, they would now be faced with losing Caleb to an all too _human _fate.

"So what's going to happen now?" he asked, as he tried to ignore the anxious looks that Sam was passing his way, no doubt wondering where Caleb was, and why his brother was absolutely crushed while on the phone with him.

_I don't know. Dawn is telling me that there's a _chance _that if everything goes according to plan, I might be able to get out on probation. It would be a _long _probation but it would nothing compared to serving more time. _

Dean certainly couldn't argue against the logic—but how long would they have to wait for that decision to be handed down? And what would happen if the judge denied Dawn's request for probation? Those devastating thoughts all contributed to the intense feeling of nausea that he was feeling, as he traded horrified looks with Bobby, who had had the added burden of hearing the verdicts live and in person that morning.

"How long will you be in there now?"

It had already been so long—nearly two months since that horrible night he had been arrested—and now he would be faced with yet another long separation from the guy that was his guardian, (no matter what the courts said about it), his mentor and his confidante.

_Two months—the sentencing hearing is then, but Dawn is hoping that she can either go for a reversal, or an appeals hearing to determine whether or not a _new _judge thinks the jury erred or not. _

"O-Of course they did," Dean said, as his voice broke completely. "You're _innocent_, Caleb, and how could they _not _see that for themselves? Don't they know how much we've lost already-" as his posture completely crumbled, he tried to look on the bright side of things, but couldn't.

It was too much to lose Jim only five or six months previously, and then have to go through _this _heartbreaking piece of news. It was something that Dean had tried to prepare himself for, but had somehow never actually _thought _would happen until now.

_I know_, Caleb said softly. _I know this is hard, Dean-_

"It's impossible!"

_I know that, _Caleb said, as his own voice broke briefly, before he wrestled back control. _We still have each other, Dean. You have still me, Dean, even if I can't physically be there right now, and you still have Bobby and Sammy._

"It's not the same," Dean reminded him.

_No, it's not, but at least this is a hell of a lot better than last time. At least we can still talk, right?_

Dean nodded. "Yeah, I guess. It would be better if I could _see _you, though."

_I know—maybe we can arrange something, or maybe if Dawn works her freaky magic, I can _actually _come home. At least until sentencing._

"Do you think it's possible?"

_I have no idea. If the appeal that she filed, goes through, it'll be in front of a new judge, who will determine whether or not I can be trusted to be out on bail until everything is resolved. _

Even though sentencing was on the forefront of Dean's mind, at least he would be granted _some _peace if Caleb was allowed out on bail until the next hearing. Though, knowing their luck and how it had continually betrayed them, he wasn't feeling too hopeful about their chances, although he kept those thoughts to himself.

"How long will it take for an appeal to go through?"

_I don't know—it may go through fast, or there may not even be a point to it, but at least we're doing everything we can to make this go along faster. _

"I still feel like-"

_Dean, _Caleb said firmly. _I _know _what you were about to say, and don't. This is not your fault, none of it is. I made a choice because I believed it was the best option at the time, and that is _not _on you, do you hear me?_

"Yes," Dean said miserably, "but-"

_But _nothing. _Don't put crap on your shoulders that doesn't belong there, Dean._

"What if this family," Dean said, having to pause momentarily until his sobs quieted down. "What if this family isn't ever together again?"

When they were at their best, when their family was at their strongest, they were unbreakable. The bonds they had all formed with one another, had served them well, had enabled them to forge ahead through the most impossible of circumstances, and while Dean knew all of that from experience, he had no idea how he was supposed to solider on ahead when he and Caleb had _always _shared the closest relationship with one another.

_We will be, Dean. No matter what, this family will remain intact. _

"How?"

_I don't know, _Caleb admitted, _but I _do _know that we'll find a way. We always do, right?_

Dean nodded, as a few tears slipped past his carefully constructed walls, and into his mouth. "Yes," he barely whispered.

_Dean, it's going to be okay. I promise it will be-_

"Don't make promises you can't keep."

_I'm not_, Caleb said, without hesitation. _We will figure this out somehow. Even if-_

"Even if _what_?"

_Nothing. I can't talk about it here._

The truth was, he and Bobby had discussed what would happen if he was convicted and then sentenced to prison time, and all of the options they had discussed, if the case couldn't go away legally, had involved breaking him out somehow, and then going as far from Minnesota as they possibly could.

Caleb had almost slipped up—had almost revealed in a room that was full of CO's, and other guards of his possible escape plans. That _certainly _would _not _bode well for him in his chances of getting out of it in one piece.

"Okay," Dean said, figuring he would interrogate Bobby about whatever it was, later.

_I have to go in a few, okay?_

"Yeah, do you want to talk to Sam?"

Sam hadn't left his side since knowing that Caleb was on the phone, and was undoubtedly eager to finally converse with his beloved guardian.

_I do. Can I call you tomorrow?_

"Sure. I love you."

_I love you too, Dean._

* * *

"Hey."

"Hi," Caleb said, as he stared across the table at Dawn. "Please tell me you have good news. I don't know if I can handle anything else right now."

"I do—the new judge, the one that would be hearing the appeal hearing if it went through?"

"Yeah?"

"He's agreed to hear some of the evidence that was presented at the trial, and look it over with a completely fresh perspective and have a completely _new _take on it."

Caleb nodded, trying to feel excitement in that, but he couldn't. He had been through the appeals court before, when he had tried to get bail, and it had been flat-out rejected. It was hard to feel any sort of optimism, when time and time again, he had been screwed over because of the prosecution and their sick vendetta against him.

"Is there going to be an _actual_ hearing?"

"It will be an informal one—I filed it to go through fast based on, what I said, an unfair prosecution and a tainted jury, to tell you the truth."

"Right—so this appeal-"

"If it goes through, you'll be able to get out until sentencing."

"You can't do anything to change the conviction?"

"Not right now. I filed an appeal for that too," she added, "but that will take longer to go through all the right channels."

"Right, so this is a hearing solely for-"

"Solely to see if you will be able to get out on bail until the sentencing. I have to warn you, even if you do, there will be a ton of conditions attached to it."

Not that any of those would matter to Caleb in the _least_.

"I don't really care," he said, shaking his head. "If I can be with those boys, at least for two months, I'll take it."

"Alright," she said, "the hearing is scheduled for tomorrow."

"When?"

"In the morning."


	41. Chapter 41

It was too _much._

Before, even though his mind had been swimming in a near perpetual state of devastation and grief, Dean had held the firm belief that, when all was said and done, Caleb would be acquitted of the horrendous charges against him and be allowed to come home where he _belonged_.

Never _once_ had Dean seriously entertained the idea of what would happen if the jury voted _against_ him, and decided, with their cruel and _unfair _verdict, that they should be split up longer, that he and Sam should have to suffer through losing _another_ guardian, another amazing person in their lives.

Now, when the worst possible thing had happened, Dean was at a loss as to how to properly cope. It had been something he had had to go through once before when Caleb had been in jail, but that had been a different, wonderful outcome, and now their luck had run out and he had been convicted of a crime that he hadn't even _done_.

Swiping a trembling hand across his face as he sniffled back the tears as much as he could, he paced an endless trail on his bedroom floor, his legs shaking nearly as much as his hands as he tried in vain to keep control over the ugly sobs that were trying to take hold of him.

It wasn't _right_.

It was completely unfair on _all _accounts.

How could someone as kind and gentle as Caleb, be seen as a monster in the eyes of the people who were supposed to uphold the law? Make it so that _bad_ people were sent to prison, not _good_ people. Not the people that saved lives, not the people that had made two kids his entire life.

As he finally gave up on his pointless pacing exercise and sank down onto his bed, he tried desperately to gain control over the pain that he was feeling, but it was nearly impossible. It had been two months since they had been together as a family, and each day that passed when he _wasn't_ home, it seemed more and more unlikely that it would ever be the same again.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he allowed his body to fall back against the sanctuary of his pillows, as he tried to lose himself in sleep for just _one_ moment, but that would have been too easy. His mind wouldn't let him go that easy, and quickly battled for dominance over a body that was worn out from exhaustion and crying.

Dean didn't care—the fact that he could lie down and have some peace and quiet—was enough for him, as he curled his body up around himself, trying to keep as much of the excruciating pain inside as much as he could.

They had barely survived through losing Jim only a few months earlier, and now he and Sam were faced with the prospect of losing yet another vital person in their lives? It was as if all the bad hits that could _possilby_ happen to someone, kept knocking at _their_ door.

As another cruel sob worked its way up through his chest, he brought his shirt up to his face to at least _attempt_ to muffle the sound of it from the rest of the people in the house. Sam and Bobby, to his knowledge, were still downstairs together.

Dean, doing what he normally did whenever a serious catastrophe struck his family, distanced himself emotionally and physically from his family, believing that the grief he was trying to work through, would be better served alone, and without having to worry about anyone giving him sympathetic, pitying looks.

It was irrational, but it was a habit that he had indulged in since he was little, and even though it was something his guardians had tried to dissuade him from, it had served him well over the years. Especially now, when he was trying to understand how something like this could possibly be happening to them again.

"Dean?"

Twisting his body around to face the doorway, he sighed when he realized it was only Sam. Certainly it wouldn't be Caleb, not after the horrible verdict the jury had just handed down.

"Yeah, Sam?"

He was surprised at how rough and cracked his voice was—a product, no doubt, of bawling his eyes out for hours upon hours since hearing that devastating news from Caleb.

"I was just...are you okay?" Sam asked, struggling to verbalize the right words as he invited himself to sit on the edge of his brother's bed.

Dean didn't move—didn't comment—as he allowed his little brother to sit down next to him. Turning his head away from briefly when another sob worked its way through, he waited until he was sure he was strong enough, before facing him again.

"No, I'm not."

The belief that Caleb would be allowed to come home once the verdicts had been read, had been the only thing that had kept Dean sane, and now when that security blanket had been ripped away from him cold turkey, he was at a loss as to how to manage the pain he was going through.

"What does all this mean?"

"What does it _mean_?"

"Yeah. Why did the jury convict him of something he didn't _do_?"

Dean shook his head, biting down on his thumb. "Because they're _bad_ people, Sam. They believed the lies that the prosecution were saying about Caleb."

"What does this mean for _him_?"

"I don't know."

It was too horrific to even contemplate—a probable life sentence that would take Caleb away from them for _good_—and all for an action he had done to protect them, to make sure that they would be safe from the YED.

"Is he going to prison for this?"

"I don't know, Sam," Dean whispered brokenly, as he used his fingers to dig the tears out of his eyes.

"Caleb said that his sentencing wasn't for another two months-"

"I know," Dean interjected. "And I can't—I can't think about that right now."

It was all he could do nowadays to stay _sane_—thinking about Caleb going to prison, certainly wasn't in line with remaining as calm and peaceful as possible, even though that was a tall order on the _best_ of days, the days where it wasn't _in_ his face like it was now.

"Okay," Sam said quietly, perhaps sensing what a low point this was for his brother. "He sounded okay, at least."

"He's trying to be strong for us—probably doesn't want us knowing how much this has cost him."

When had Caleb _ever_ put his own needs and safety above them? Never. Even when it had been for something like murder or fraud, to keep it from coming back home to where _they_ were, he had willingly turned himself over for prosecution.

For the last eight years, Caleb had made a conscious decision to put them first, and that had never changed, not even in the face of possible jail time.

"Yeah," Sam said, sniffling back tears of his own. "Caleb said that they found him not guilty for abusing us?"

That had been the one charge that had made absolutely _no_ sense to Sam, and even though he had tried to approach the thought from the prosecution's point of view, he had still come up blank as to how someone would _assume_ that they were being abused.

"Yeah," Dean said with a forcible nod. "About the _only_ good that's come out of this whole mess."

Not that it would make much difference in the long run—not if he was sentenced to a lengthy prison term for a ridiculous kidnapping conviction.

"It'll be okay, you know," Sam said after a minute.

"How?"

"I don't know," Sam said with a shrug. "But I know it _will_ be."

"I'm glad," Dean said with a small smile, "that you have all this confidence and look on the bright side of life attitude, because I'm going to need it if I have a _prayer_ of surviving through this."

"Bobby said that we'll get through this as a family, Dean, and it's still true, right?"

"What?"

"That we're a family?" Sam prodded.

"Yeah, that's still true."

"Then we'll be okay."

* * *

It was hard for Caleb to feel any sort of hope or excitement about this hearing—even though it would be his last shot at freedom before a sentencing hearing that would either doom him to prison, or sentence him to years worth of probation, which he would gladly accept in a heartbeat.

As the guards went through the familiar routine of chaining him up for the hearing, he tried _not _to get excited about it. There was too much riding on this hearing to be a success, but he had been bitterly disappointed before, when he had been denied bail. It was hard to imagine anything else being different this time around.

As the police car traveled down the street, jostling him at every twist and turn, he leaned his head back against the hard, plastic seat, as he tried to block out anything to do with his case. It had been heart-wrenching to hear the complete devastation that had filtered Dean's tone, and even Sam's, when he had gotten his turn to speak with him.

Those kids were _everything_ to him—the entire reason he _was_ where he _was_—and the idea that he could be faced with leaving them for good, was a devastating thought, and something he tried to avoid thinking about at all costs.

When the car finally pulled into the oppressive underground parking garage, he tried to prepare himself to be rejected again, to have a new judge agree with the first, and deny him his chance at freedom. As they led him through the familiar halls and doors to the courtroom, he inhaled a deep, soothing breath as the doors to the room were opened, and he was allowed to walk inside, free of the restraints that had been attached to him before then.

As the guards led him over to the defense table, he automatically spotted Dawn's blond hair, and felt a little bit better. At least, even though she had failed to secure him an acquittal on the kidnapping rap, at least he knew that she had his back, and was fighting through every possible channel to get him released.

"Hey," he whispered, as he finally sank down into the seat next to hers.

"Hi," she whispered back, "big morning."

That was the understatement of the century—at least as far as he was concerned—even though two months of freedom would mean little in the grand scheme of things, especially if he was sentenced to hard time later on, just the fact that he would be able to reconnect with the boys for that amount of time, would be absolutely priceless to him.

"I know," he said, as he scrubbed an exhausted hand over his face.

Usually, on the _best_ of days, his insomnia was bad. On the _worst_ of days, like the night before when he had struggled to obtain any amount of rest after his conviction, it was impossible.

"Sleep well?" she asked, raising an eyebrow, no doubt catching sight of the dark circles under his eyes, and the yawns he was trying to control.

"Hell no."

Whenever he had managed to shut his eyes and not have those images running through his brain, he would be brutally awakened by the appearance of another nightmare. This time, it was of him being stuck in a prison cell for the rest of his life.

"We have a strong chance of getting this," Dawn assured him, though it was nothing that he hadn't already heard before, though he tried to look on the bright side of things as much as possible.

"You've said that before," he remarked quietly.

"I know, but the judge made _several _errors. Not only during the trial, but at the arraignment."

"When he denied me bail-"

"Yes. He should have allowed me to make my argument _before _announcing his decision."

"Is this a new judge?"

"Yes."

At least he would be given the chance to start fresh with a new judge—one who wasn't yet aware of how malicious and convincing the prosecution could be—and would be able to approach the case with a fresh perspective.

"What are you going to say?"

"That the other judge erred when he denied you bail-"

"All rise!" The bailiff said, cutting her off mid-sentence.

As they rose, Caleb tried to ignore the pressing sense of nausea as they sat back down for the judge. This would be his last chance at obtaining freedom before sentencing, and even if it was only temporary, at least he would be able to enjoy some bonding time with the boys.

"Is the defense ready to present their case?" the new judge asked, directing his attention to Dawn.

"Yes, we are," Dawn replied, as she stood to address the court. "We are here, Your Honor, to inquire as to whether or not my client should be allowed to make bail, and if Judge Clemons erred when he denied it."

"I have it on file," the judge said, "that your client tried to flee the state?"

"As stated in my report, there are mitigating circumstances that surrounded that event. The child my client has been raising for the past eight years, was kidnapped, and then right after that, his custodial rights were terminated."

"He was considered to be a flight risk?"

"Yes, and so he was denied bail."

"He was convicted of kidnapping in the first degree?"

"That was the charge that he was brought up against when he was arrested. We're trying to get the charge downsized to simple contempt of court, but for right now, until all of the proceedings related to the case are finished, I am asking that my client be released."

The judge seemed to consider her statement carefully—Caleb tried to take that as a positive sign, but he wasn't holding his breath. Not yet—not until he heard that verbal confirmation that he would, miraculously, be free to go for the time being.

"When is sentencing scheduled for the kidnapping case?"

"January 1st."

"You want him released on bail until that happens?"

"With conditions, if the court wants to impose them, yes."

The judge nodded thoughtfully. "What kind of conditions would your client be willing to accept if I agreed to set bail?"

"Anything, to be honest," Dawn said with a small laugh. "He just wants to have the chance to be out, and we will follow whatever restrictions the court deems necessary."

Caleb held his breath as he waited for the judge to hand down his decision—he was fully prepared for the judge to say no, and as much as it would pain him to have to accept that, he was prepared to do so.

"Does your client have any gainful employment?"

"If his boss still wants to keep him on, yes."

"Where?"

"At a construction company."

"Here's what I'll do," the judge said, "I _will_ agree to set bail. On the condition that he finds a job, if he doesn't have his old one anymore, and he will have to agree to a curfew."

"Thank you, Your Honor," Dawn said, trading incredulous glances with Caleb. "There's a bondsman in court right now, can he just walk out right now?"

"Yes."


	42. Chapter 42

The feeling of being _liberated_—of being free from the constraints and rules that had controlled him while he had been incarcerated—was an incomparable feeling for Caleb, who had gone into the courtroom with the deepest sense of foreboding, only to be told by the judge, miraculously, that he would be allowed out on bail.

At least until his sentencing.

Even the pressing fear of being sentenced to do hard time behind bars, didn't damper Caleb's spirits as he waited for the bondsmen to pay the bail money that the judge had set, and then he was allowed to get up and walk out of the courtroom a _free _man.

It was a day that he hadn't _ever_ thought would come—even though he had hoped for it from day one—and finally it was happening. A judge had finally looked past the _exterior_ and had taken a peek inside the _interior_, and had seen the kind of man that Caleb was, and how he could be relied on to keep his word to the court, and make any future court appearances related to the case, and attempt to flee again.

Even if the idea was highly tempting—Caleb wouldn't do it—not until he was actually sentenced to prison. He and Bobby had talked about what would happen if it ever came to him being sentenced to do time, and all of those ideas had involved breaking him out and then making a run for it as far from Minnesota as one could possibly get.

It was a town that Caleb used to _love_ being in—especially with the sense of security and family that followed them in that place, but ever since the DA had dropped the ball on him, and had taken on a personal vendetta against him, things had changed.

No longer did Caleb feel warm and fuzzy inside, when he thought of everything they had lost there—they had lost Jim, they had lost all of their trust in a justice system that was continually proving to them how flawed it _really_ was, and it was where Caleb had lost custody of Sam and Dean.

But none of that mattered now—what _mattered_ was that he would finally be able to go home and see the boys—especially Sam, who he hadn't seen in nearly three months, not since he had been arrested in Sioux Falls, and Dean, who he hadn't seen since he had testified at the end of the trial.

"Does it feel good to be out?" Bobby asked, as they walked across the courthouse parking lot toward Bobby's truck.

"Hell yes," Caleb said, shaking his head in disbelief at everything that had transpired. In the last several hours, he had gone from being incarcerated and awaiting an impossible sentence for kidnapping, and then he had been allowed to leave the horrific jail cell that had been his home, and go back to the house.

"So what are your plans?" Bobby asked, as they slipped inside his truck.

"I don't know—the only thing I'm worried about is seeing the boys first of all—and then taking the longest nap of my _freakin'_ life."

It would feel wonderful to be able to lie down in his _own_ room, in his _own_ bed, and be able to sleep off the last three months. It would be incomparable to know that he was free, for the time being, to do whatever he wanted, and not have jail guards telling him any different.

"Are we going to stay here? Or are we going to make a run for it?"

It had been a consideration from the get-go, but Bobby knew how Caleb felt about running, especially when the boys were factored into that decision, but he didn't really see where they had a choice anymore, especially with Caleb facing a probable prison term.

"I honestly don't know," Caleb said, as he ran an exhausted hand over his face. "I don't want to—especially when I think of everything that the boys have _already_ lost—but I don't know what else I'm supposed to do."

The worst possible thing would be for them to be separated again—especially with how unpredictable the YED's movements were, and how at any time, the demon could strike again. They had strength in numbers, and more importantly, their love and support of one another.

"I don't either. Before, it was nice because you had a choice of whether or not you stayed and raised the boys in Minnesota, or on the road, but now-"

"Now our hands are kind of being forced right now. I don't want to do it like this, but when I think of that demon torturing Sam again, or bleeding into his mouth, I won't allow that to happen again."

One of the many choices that Caleb and Jim had made when they had first started raising the boys, had been to raise them as normal as they could in Minnesota. At the time, their arrangement had worked out perfectly for them, but it wasn't like that anymore, and Caleb hated it.

The last thing he wanted was for the boys to be ripped away from their friends and the place that they had grown up in, but it wasn't safe for any of them anymore. If it wasn't a malicious DA, it was the demon who knew by heart, where they were and could easily break through their walls again.

"We have to think of the boys," Bobby agreed, "and what's _safest_ for them."

"I know."

At the time, they had scoffed at the notion that all hunters had to raise their kids on the road. They had thought they were the exception to that hard fast rule, but only now, when they were being forced to make a decision like so many others had, did they realize how wise the choice might be.

"So are you going to wait until-"

"I'm going to wait until my sentencing. You have guys that can get inside the prison, right?"

"Right. They can get you out, but are you sure that you want it to go that far?"

"I'll think about it."

The beauty was that he had _time_ to formulate a plan with Bobby—two months—and if they still thought running was the smartest option, they would go for it. It would be difficult, especially where Sam was concerned, but they would have to make it work somehow.

* * *

"Are you excited to see the little idjits?"

"You bet," Caleb said, shaking his head incredulously, as tears pinched the corners of his eyes.

It had been two months since he had _really _had the chance to see them, especially Sam, and as they pulled up the driveway of their two story, family-style home, he let out the breath that he hadn't even _realized_ had been holding him back, as they navigated their way into the messy garage.

"Well, they're excited to see _you_," Bobby said with a shake of his head, as he eased the car to a standstill.

"Do you they know about any of this?" Caleb asked, as he got out of the truck and prepared to go inside.

"No. I didn't want to get their hopes up for nothing."

After all, they had been through this game once _before_ when Caleb had been granted an emergency hearing, and their hopes had been bitterly dashed. For Bobby to confide in the boys about Caleb's new hearing, it would have been too precarious, especially with how crushed Dean had been lately.

"Probably a good idea," Caleb said, as he stifled a yawn.

"Tired?"

"Yeah—once I see them for a little bit, I'm going to crash."

It would be the sweetest (and longest) nap of his entire life—and one that he wouldn't take lightly—as he could already imagine the soft, soothing feel of his bed and his nice pillows. It was something that he had taken for granted once before, and now realized with perfect clarity, that he never would again.

"Sounds like a plan," Bobby said with a nod, as he pulled the door open. "You're going to be jumped, I think."

"I plan on it," Caleb said with a slow grin, not even fully believing that, after so long, he was finally being given the sweetest gift of being able to finally reestablish his bond with the kids.

The house was empty at first glance—the kitchen where they immediately walked into, was empty. Turning the corner though, Caleb could hear the TV going in the living room, and knew that someone was in there.

Grinning, he pulled himself around the wall, and saw Sam lounging on the sofa. His back was to him, as he watched the cartoon program that was playing, completely oblivious to his beloved guardian standing directly behind him.

"Sammy," Caleb said, as he finally walked around the couch to face the nine-year-old.

"Caleb!" Sam said, his eyes widening in disbelief as he comically used the couch as a springboard to launch himself into Caleb's waiting arms. "I can't believe you're back! I thought-"

The last Sam had known, Caleb would be stuck in jail for another two months while he awaited sentencing for a charge that still confused him, no matter how many times his brother or the adults around him had tried to explain it.

"I know," Caleb said, as he wrapped his arms around the child. "I got out, though."

"How?" Sam asked, as he leaned back in Caleb's arms to look him in the eyes.

"I got bail—my attorney worked another miracle—for now."

"What do you mean?"

"I still have to be sentenced," he explained, catching the confused look on Sam's face. "But that's not for a little while," he added quickly when he saw Sam's face fall slightly.

"Okay," Sam said uncertainly, as he tightened his arms around Caleb's neck. "I don't want you to ever leave again."

Caleb nodded, swallowing back the lump in his throat, as he held Sam tightly. "I can't promise that I won't leave again, but it will be awhile, okay?"

Sam nodded. "Alright."

"Where's your brother?" Caleb asked, as he gave Sam a final hug before letting him down.

"Upstairs—listening to music."

"Oh, okay."

"Do you want me to go get him?" Bobby asked.

"No," Caleb said, shaking his head, with a small smile. "I'll go up there and scare the crap out of him."

"Oh, boy," Bobby said. "You're going to scare the livin' daylights outta that kid."

"That's kind of the point," Caleb said, rolling his eyes, as he disappeared up the staircase to Dean's room. It was the first door on the right, and as Caleb eased it open, he saw Dean lying on his stomach with his headphones plugged in, as he read a comic book.

Stifling a laugh behind his hand, Caleb softly inched foreword with only the keen sense of quietness that had been honed from years of perfecting his skills as a hunter. Pausing when he was standing right over Dean, he hesitated before clamping a hand down on Dean's shoulder.

Dean's reaction was almost comical as he spun around, almost falling off his bed as he ripped his headphones off.

"Hey, dude," Caleb said, laughing at the complete look of shock on Dean's face, as he stood frozen in front of him.

"How—how are you?" Dean stuttered, scrambling to figure out _how_ he was there, and more importantly, how he had managed to finally be let _free_ from that horrific place.

"The hearing worked," Caleb said, shaking his head. "Finally."

Dean shook his head, stunned. "I don't-"

"Just give me a hug, and we can talk about it later," Caleb suggested, as he opened his arms to receive the thirteen-year-old.

"I can't believe you're finally here," Dean whispered against Caleb's shirt.

"I can't either."

He had gone from total and complete incarceration, to being granted his freedom. It was dizzying, but it was also the greatest feeling in the entire world, especially when he was privileged enough to see the kids' ecstatic faces when he had surprised them.

"Dawn actually managed to get you out?" Dean whispered.

"Yeah—the judge finally agreed to set bail. There's conditions attached to it, but I can't really complain."

"No, I guess not."

"So are we ready to go have some fun?"

"You bet!"


	43. Chapter 43

There was so much that Caleb wanted to do with the boys, and so little time. It had been exhilarating to see their thrilled faces when he had surprised them, but now came the real fun. The chance to have some fun and catch up with them on all the things _they _had missed, and all the things _he _had missed.

The first order of business, even though he would have preferred taking a nap to rest his worn out body, was to enjoy some _real_ food instead of the slop that the jail thought passed for it. Bobby, sensing that Caleb and the boys needed some time to reconnect, volunteered to go pick up dinner for all of them.

These moments were truly priceless for Caleb—and the moments that he had missed dearly while he had been stuck in jail. It wasn't the confinement that had bothered him, it had been the forced separation from the boys, and even though he had gotten daily chances to speak with them on the phone, it hadn't even _touched _the feeling of being _physically _with them.

"So what do you want to do while we wait for Bobby?" Caleb asked, as Dean helped him get some of their plates and silverware out for dinner.

"Well," Dean said, pretending to seriously consider the question. "I _would _like to beat _both," _he said, glancing over at Sam, who was watching them interestedly. "Of your asses at air hockey."

Dean was extremely competitive in most areas of his life—but especially at his favorite game of air hockey—they had a playing table down in the basement, and besides going down there to train, he loved competing with Caleb or Sam at the game.

And even though none of them liked to admit it, Dean was usually the undisputed champion whenever they played one or ten rounds, and it was a game that all of them had missed while Caleb had been away, even though Sam had tried to goad Dean into playing with him once.

"I beat you once!" Sam argued.

"Yeah, _once_," Dean shot back with a roll of his eyes.

"And," Caleb said, faking a cough. "You obliviously block out traumatic memories because I beat you _twice_," he said, holding up two fingers.

"Uh-uh," Dean said, grinning, as he moved down the basement steps. "_You're _the one with the block. Obviously," he added. "Come on, let's see who's _still _the champion."

Besides the main room that the basement housed, the one where Dean and Caleb most often trained and watched movies with Sam, there was another adjacent room that belonged to the numerous gaming machines that they had managed to accumulate over the years.

The air hockey table was one of those games that the boys kept going back to no matter _how _many times they had gravitated toward it, and it had provided them with hours upon hours of laughs and good times.

"You're getting a little cocky," Caleb remarked with amusement, as he ripped the sheet off that had been under the game. "Alright, who wants to go head-to-head with me first?"

"Me!" Sam said, jumping up and down at the same time that Dean raised his hand.

"Alright," Caleb said, grinning, feeling a complete peace wash over him. He had missed this—even the boys bantering back and forth with each other, with Caleb stuck in the role of mediator between them. "How do we settle this?"

"Rock paper scissors," Sam said, throwing a victorious grin over in his brother's direction.

Even though Sam was a master at settling disputes between he and his brother with playing a solid game of rock paper scissors, Dean wasn't usually so lucky, and would almost always end up losing against his little brother.

"No _fair_," Dean said with a groan. "I _always _lose."

It was true—whatever move that he threw to combat what his brother was doing, he normally always ended up making the move that was below Sam's. It was something that Sam greatly enjoyed, especially when they were trying to solve an argument like now.

"Just do the exact _opposite _of what you would normally do," Caleb suggested.

"Whoever wins-"

"Whoever wins, goes first," Caleb explained.

"Alright, fine."

Facing off against his brother, he screwed up his face in concentration. Sam, sensing his determination, smirked as they prepared to show the moves they had thought up in their minds. Sam, clearly expecting to win again, while Dean was mentally trying to follow Caleb's advice and not follow the same moves that he did every single time they played the game.

"Ha!" Dean said, when they had finally showed off their moves.

"No fair!" Sam said incredulously.

"Paper covers rock," Dean said smugly. "Right, Caleb?" he asked, turning to Caleb for his final say on the matter.

"Yeah, it does," Caleb said, "good job. You have to admit, Sammy," he added, turning to the stupefied kid. "That was pretty good."

"Yeah," Sam admitted, deciding not to make a big deal out of the matter, especially when they were trying to enjoy such an unexpected and happy reunion with Caleb. "For a beginner," he added with a slow grin.

"You _wish_," Dean said, shaking his head. "So you and I go first, Caleb?"

"Yeah, and then when I, inevitably, score my winning shot, Sam and I are going to go."

"You're going to be waiting a _long _time," Dean remarked under his breath, as he and Caleb moved into position. "I'll try to go easy on you," he added, as he grasped the hand-held mallet and prepared to shoot the puck.

"No need," Caleb said, as he fired off a surprise shot. "We got five rounds, okay?"

"Kay," Dean said, as he narrowed his eyes at the puck in front of him. "I can do this-" he whispered to himself, as he held the mallet tightly in his hand and aimed a shot in Caleb's goal. "Ha!"

"Lucky strike."

"Nope. It's because of my _amazing _skills."

"How do you explain this, then?" Caleb asked, as he moved around the block that Dean had attempted, and moved the puck into _his _goal.

"_That _was a lucky strike," Dean said. "Obviously."

"Alright," Caleb said, looking down at the built-in electronic score sheet. "We went four already. One more."

"You better make it count," Dean said teasingly.

"Oh, I will."

For several seconds they batted the puck around the table, while Sam watched eagerly. Finally, it came down to the final shot Caleb and Dean's round with each other, and when Dean scored the winning goal, he traded a triumphant look with Sam.

"I know you're crying inside," Dean said jokingly, "but try not to let it effect you _too _much."

"I think I'll be okay," Caleb said, shaking his head in bemusement. "Okay, Sammy, you ready?"

"Duh," Sam said, rolling his eyes, as though the assumption that he _wasn't_, was ridiculous. "Let's do it."

"Okay," Caleb said, "remember what I taught you?"

"With the wrist?"

Caleb nodded. "If you control the wrist movement a little bit, you can have more power in your shot."

"You realize," Dean said, as he watched from the comfort of the big recliner in the room, "that you're helping him win?"

"Yeah," Caleb said, shrugging one shoulder, "but he hasn't done this in awhile."

"Yeah," Sam said, turning back to Dean and sticking tongue out at him.

"Hey," Caleb warned gently, "be a good sport."

"But that's too _boring_."

"You're impossible sometimes," Caleb said, as he playfully ran his hand through Sam's hair. "You ready?"

"Ready to be the champion? Yes!"

"Okay," Caleb said with a laugh. "You're on."

* * *

They continued playing around downstairs until Bobby arrived back with their dinner. It wasn't anything fancy, but it was the kind of food that Caleb had dreamed about since he had been forced to endure the slop that the jail thought passed for _actual _food.

After that, and after Sam had finally lost his battle with his tiredness and had gone to bed for the night, Dean and Caleb stayed up later, both wanting to have the chance to reconnect with each other, and talk about the kind of things that they couldn't freely talk about, not when Sam would interrupt with a thousand different questions, and even though that wasn't a huge deal, it would still be nice for Dean to have that time with Caleb that he had sorely missed.

"So what the hell happened this morning?" Dean asked, as he and Caleb settled themselves on the comfortable sofa downstairs. "How did you get out?"

"I got a new hearing," Caleb explained.

"Yeah, I know," Dean said, recalling Caleb's words to him when they had first reunited. "But what kind of hearing _was _it?"

The last _he _had been told, Caleb would be stuck in jail for another two months while awaiting sentencing on a charge that should never have been brought to fruition in the first place.

"An appeals hearing—Dawn filed it right after the conviction, and a new judge that took it on, agreed to hear it, and see if the first judge _erred _when he denied me bail."

"So obviously it worked," Dean surmised with a shaky laugh, "because here you are."

"Yeah," Caleb said. "Here I am. And with any luck, I won't have to go anywhere _again_."

He and Bobby had long ago agreed on a contingency plan in case the worst possible scenario happened, and he ended up having to go to prison, but he was hoping it wouldn't come to that. He was hoping that Dawn would be able to get the charge reduced to a contempt charge.

"So when is your sentencing?" Dean asked, trying to think consciously through the very real fear that he had at having to say goodbye to Caleb _again_.

"Not until the first," Caleb said reassuringly, as he squeezed Dean's shoulder comfortingly. "We still have a little bit of time before we have to face the music on that."

"What's going to happen?" Dean asked, "if you end up having to serve time?"

The idea of that happening again, of Caleb having to leave them to serve out a bonus prison sentence, was horrifying to Dean, especially since they just been lucky enough to be reunited again.

"Bobby and I talked about that—that's why I couldn't really talk about it to you over the phone because of the CO's that were there, but if I have to end up going to prison for the charge, we're probably going to book."

"You mean leave?" Dean asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah—if it comes to those extremes, Bobby has a friend that can break me out and we can leave then."

Caleb knew the risks they would be taking if they successfully staged a prison break—FBI and police would be constantly on their tails—making it impossible for them to stay in one place too long, and that was exactly the kind of existence that he had never wanted for the boys.

"Will you actually _do _it?" Dean asked, raising one eyebrow in question, as though he honestly doubted whether or not Caleb would actually do it or not, especially with what had happened recently when he had tried to make a run for it.

"Yeah," Caleb nodded. "If I have to. If I've learned anything from these last few months, it's that it's too dangerous to be apart now."

Dean nodded quietly, biting down on his thumbnail. "Yeah. Especially with Sam and the Yellow-Eyed Demon."

"Exactly—we can't be separated again."

"I couldn't agree more—but are we prepared to run?"

"If we have to."


	44. Chapter 44

"How are you?"

"Alright," Caleb admitted. "Definitely better than last time you saw me."

"Good," Dawn said, as they sat down on the couch in the living room.

It had been a few days since his release from custody, and even though Caleb was _thrilled_ to finally be free from the depressing and horrific jail cell that had been his home for the last few months, it didn't come without its downfalls.

Especially when it concerned the requirements that he had to abide by in order to be out—the most pressing was having a steady job to, no doubt, keep him out of trouble, at least in the eyes of the court. When he had called and inquired to his boss as to whether or not he could come back or not, he had been rejected.

Even though it had stung—especially when he was reminded of the fact that he hadn't even _done _anything to deserve the firing—it had mostly worried him. The judge had made it clear that he _had _to have a job as part of his deal of being allowed freedom, and he was concerned about what would happen if he didn't show proof of employment pretty soon.

"I called my boss at the construction company," Caleb remarked, as they sat in amiable silence for a few moments.

"What did he say?" She asked carefully, as she studied his reaction.

After years of knowing him, she was able to pick up on his different moods and reactions pretty easily, and she knew by the stiff way he held his body, that the news he would be delivering to her, wouldn't be positive, and she was prepared for that.

"They...he said that they don't need me anymore."

It was frustrating—even though he was ecstatic at finally being free from the jail guards and the endless amount of court hearings that had governed his time in custody, the outside world _certainly_ wasn't making it easy on him.

"I'm sorry," she finally said, after a minute of silent contemplation.

"It's not your fault," he said automatically. "I'm just worried about the fallout from something like this—the judge made it _pretty_ clear that he needed me to have a steady source of employment for me to be out."

Dawn nodded, clasping her hands in front of her face thoughtfully. "It's not your fault that you got terminated—and he _did _give you a time frame to seek other options."

"He _did_?"

Either he had been in a daze, (which was highly likely), or he had completely zoned out when he had been told that. It didn't _completely_ alleviate the burdensome stress on his shoulders, but it was a stepping stone in the right direction.

"Yes—he gave you thirty days to find another job if you didn't have your old one anymore."

"Good," he said, arching his spine foreword as he rubbed his hands between his face. "Any other updates?"

The last he knew, she had been gunning for his sentencing hearing to be postponed until the other judge in the case, ruled on the notion to grant him an appeals hearing on getting the kidnapping charge thrown out and replaced with a contempt charge instead.

It would be a lesser charge that would guarantee him a lighter sentence—and not as much time spent away from the boys—and it was something he was hoping Dawn would be able to swing for him, but with the way the flawed legal system had continually screwed him over, he wasn't holding his breath yet.

"Judge Erikson-" she began carefully.

"The one who heard my appeal hearing?" Caleb asked.

Over the last few months he had become very familiar with the judge's in Minnesota—eventually it had been a job _just_ to remember all those names, especially the ones in _this_ case.

"Yes. I filed a motion requesting that your sentencing be postponed until we know the results of the appeal."

"The appeal to downgrade the kidnapping charge to contempt?"

"Correct. It was denied."

Caleb sighed; it wasn't anything that he hadn't expected. Even though he was already so lucky to have been granted bail until he was formally sentenced, he knew that the freedom he was currently enjoying probably wouldn't last forever.

"So it's still going foreword, then?"

"That's right."

"Did the appeal at least go _through_?"

If the appeal to downsize the charge went through, at least he would still have _that_ to look foreword to, even if he would have to go through the horrors of sentencing, at least he would have something to hope for if things went south.

"It did," she confirmed. "But it won't be heard for another three months."

"Right. So to summarize-"

"The sentencing is still going through, and the appeal was accepted."

"If," he swallowed back the nausea that the thought presented to him. "If I get sentenced to do hard time, if the charge gets downsized to contempt later on, will the original sentence be thrown out?"

"Yes."

"So," he said, glancing over at the clock. "What kind of time would I get for contempt?"

"Contempt charges, generally, don't offer a lot of time. A few days, a week at the most."

"Wow," he said.

In the grand scheme of things, that would be nothing to the amount of days _combined _he had spent in jail over the last _year._

"I know, so that's what we're aiming for."

"What's the status of me possibly regaining custody?"

Getting his custodial rights reinstated, had been a hope of his from the second they had been taken _away_. With the kidnapping conviction, besides the horror he felt for _himself_, he also was harshly reminded of the fact that a verdict like that, would be bound to wreak havoc on his bid to get the boys back.

"I filed all the appropriate documents as soon as you were cleared of the abuse and neglect charges. As for how _successful_ that will be-"

"It all depends on the kidnapping," Caleb surmised.

"Yes. Generally," she said with a wry smile. "Family court doesn't favor restoring custody rights to a convicted felon, but I'm trying to get some partial rights restored, and then if the charges are completely dropped in terms of the kidnapping conviction, I'll go for full custody."

"Alright, thank you."

* * *

With the wealth of information that Dawn had piled on his shoulders, he was only too happy to indulge in some much needed rest while he waited for the boys and Bobby to get home. He had taken them to investigate a bridge that had was reported to be haunted by the ghost of a kid that had died _on _or near it.

Due to his curfew restrictions, he hadn't be allowed to go, even though the job was supposed to be local. It was one of the pitfalls of his bail requirements—he had to abide by a strict curfew when he wasn't working, and even though he would have loved to have had an excuse to spend more time with the kids, he had had to sit this one out.

But he couldn't deny the perks of being able to rest—and that was what he did while he waited for their return and their report on what they had witnessed at the bridge. It was Sam's first major case after the spirit one that he had been allowed on right after he had been arrested, and he was eager to know how he had done.

When the back door downstairs was thrown open, he heaved himself up from his bed to go down and see what they had gleaned from their day of hard work.

"Hey," Caleb said, as he met Bobby and the two boys in the kitchen. "What happened?"

"Nothing much," Dean said with a shrug, as he hung his coat on the hook by the door. "The spirit was this dude who had been killed by his evil stepfather."

"Oh, really?" Caleb said, as he supported his body weight on the counter as he leaned toward the kids. "So did you get your hands dirty?"

"Kind of," Dean said, looking over at Sam who nodded eagerly. "Sam dug his first grave."

"Did you?" Caleb said with a proud smile. "Good for _you_!"

"Th—thanks," Sam said, cutting off in a laugh as Caleb tickled his sides. "It wasn't that bad—it was kind of fun, actually."

Even though Sam had been kept in the dark from what his family did with the supernatural, recently he had started to become more involved in it—even if it was something simple like digging a grave or lighting a match to burn a corpse.

And even though some of it frightened the still innocent child, he had started to become more enthused about the idea of hunting, and was more willing to help out when he was called or offered to do so.

"It is," Caleb agreed. "Did Bobby let you light a match?" he asked, glancing over at the older hunter.

"I did," Bobby confirmed, "and he did it exactly how you taught him."

"Awesome," Caleb said, holding his hand up in a high-five.

"Low-five," Sam said, giggling, as he held his hand down for Caleb to smack.

"You did awesome tonight," Caleb said, teasingly ruffling Sam's hair.

"Thanks."

"I wish you had been there," Dean said, shrugging, as though it hadn't been a big deal to him.

"I know. But because of my sucky bail agreement-"

"You have a curfew," Dean said with a laugh.

"In a way, yes. I talked to Dawn today."

"What did she say?" Bobby asked, as he passed out some different foods and drinks to the boys. They definitely needed it after the long day of working they had both accomplished.

"She filed a motion for my sentencing to be put on hold until the results of my appeal go through, but it got denied," Caleb said, as he took a satisfying gulp of his soda.

"So it's still happening?" Dean asked, glancing up nervously at Caleb over the rim of his glass.

"Yeah," Caleb sand gently, "but the appeal did go through."

"But it's not going to be heard in time?" Bobby asked, as he handed Sam a napkin.

"No."

It was disappointing, but when Caleb was reminded of the plan he and Bobby had set in motion should he be sent back to jail after the sentencing, it wasn't as pressing as it would have been without the plan, even though it was still certainly stressful.

"What about the custody situation?" Dean asked, as he helped himself to some chips.

"That's still iffy—not impossible—but iffy. I'll have a better chance of getting it reinstated if the judge agrees to drop the kidnapping charge. In the meantime, she's still filing documents to get at least some of my rights brought back."

"Does she think you'll at least get that?" Dean asked.

"I don't know—We probably won't know for awhile, but at least I'm here regardless," he said, smilign down at the boys, as he gave Sam and Dean each a hug.

"It wasn't the same without you," Sam said.

"Definitely not," Dean agreed.

"Well, now I'm back," Caleb said. "For good."

"Everything is back to normal," Sam said.


	45. Chapter 45

It had been awhile since Caleb had had the chance to sit back and _breathe_—not since before his catastrophic arrest for kidnapping and a host of other charges, and then being sent to jail. It had been something that he had missed dearly, getting the chance to sit down and enjoy a cup of his treasured coffee before the morning rush hour began.

As the searing hot liquid burned down his throat, he sighed deeply as he looked down at the two or three job applications that were spread out before him. Ever since he had been fired from his original job at a construction plant, he had been combing the papers in pursuit of a job that would satisfy the courts.

Part of his bail agreement was that he had to obtain gainful employment if he didn't have his old job anymore—and since his former boss had dropped the ball on him, and had let him go, he had been scrambling to find another job so he could proof of employment to a prosecutor who would love _nothing_ more than to find an excuse to throw him back behind bars again.

It was frustrating when he was doing everything on _his_ end to keep _his_ end of the bargain—and the potential employers, weren't giving him any breathing room to make the process easier on him. The most pressing concern, obviously, was that he would be sent back to the detention center if he didn't show that he had a job soon.

Dawn was doing everything she could to help him—even going so far as to recommend a couple of placement agencies that could further him in his efforts to find a job to please the judge in his case.

The last thing he wanted was to go back to jail before he had to—the sentencing wasn't for a little over a month, and even though he was dreading having to go back in front of the judge with the possibility of being sent back to a jail cell, he was hoping that he would able to impress the court with his commitment to following through with his bail conditions.

He was brought out of his fevered thoughts by a grunt of a greeting from Bobby, who had come downstairs for breakfast. Usually Caleb did the cooking in the house, but he had been desperately trying to reclaim the precious sleep he had lost over the last two or three months, and had left that chore up to Bobby.

"Morning," Caleb prompted, when Bobby didn't make any move to acknowledge him verbally. It was how they all felt in the mornings—tired, grumpy and resistant to the idea of starting a new day.

"Hi," Bobby said finally, clearly deciding to face the music of another day.

"Sleep well?" Caleb asked with an amusement raise of an eyebrow.

Obviously he hadn't—or the older hunter was clearly _not_ the morning type of person. Either option was likely, and truth be told, _all_ of them were trying to catch up on the sleep they had lost during the last, chaotic few weeks of hell they had endured.

"It was alright," Bobby finally admitted, as he grabbed a cup of the coffee that Caleb had made, and sat down across from him. "You?"

If _anyone _need the rest and relaxation, it was Caleb. Over the last few weeks, he had had to endure an arrest, a traumatic incarceration, and then an emotionally draining trial that had ended, stunningly, in his conviction on kidnapping charges.

"Can't complain," Caleb said, as he scrubbed a hand over his face. "Where are the kids?"

"Still sleeping like bats—I checked before I came down," he added, seeing the anxiousness start to reappear in Caleb's face. It wasn't enough _just_ to assume they were sleeping—not when a demon was hellbent on using Sam as the ringleader in his twisted demonic war against humankind.

"Good."

"Can't be too careful," Bobby said, catching the nervousness in Caleb start to die down a little once he had been assured that the boys were safe for the time being.

"Hell no," Caleb said with a weak laugh. "Not when Yellow-Eyes is still out there, still planning his next move."

It was the only positive to possibly going on the run with the boys—it would be harder for the demon to keep track of them if they kept constantly moving around. It was a last resort for the guys, but it was something that was looking more and more appealing by the second.

"Right. So what's all that?" he asked, finally noticing the plethora of job applications that had taken up residence over most of the dining room table.

"Job applications."

"You _still_ haven't found one?"

Caleb shook his head, as he cupped his hand under his chin. "Nope. Call it a wild guess, but employers _probably_ don't want a convicted child abductor on their payroll."

Obviously there was more to it than that, but the normal observer wouldn't understand that—and that was what was so hard for Caleb to come to grips with. Unless Dawn could pull off a miracle reversal and get the charge dropped, he would have a serious felony charge on his record.

"There's circumstances to consider," Bobby said carefully. "They have to _know_ that you would never-"

"They don't have to _know_ anything," Caleb disagreed, shaking his head. "All _they_ know is that they have a guy applying for a job, who just happens to have a felony on his record. Not exactly the kind of PR they want to promote."

Bobby nodded, not able to deny the logic in their decision, even though it was disgusting when he was reminded of the fact that his friend hadn't even _done_ anything, but all the company saw was his conviction, and the fact that he had been charged with abduction.

"Still, they have to give you a chance. You can't go back to jail _just_ because no one is willing to give you a chance."

"I don't know," Caleb said with a sigh. "Hopefully something will come my way soon."

He _wanted_ to believe a judge would choose _not_ to punish him based on the fact that a perspective employer refused to grant him a job, but he wasn't holding his breath, either.

"Is Dawn trying to-"

Whatever Bobby had been about to say, was cut off by a scream and a crash from upstairs. Giving each other a split second look of panic, they both bolted up the stairs in the direction of Sam's bedroom. Throwing it open, Caleb immediately went down to the floor where the trembling child lay.

"Sammy," Caleb gasped, as he mentally checked him over for any injuries. "Are you—are you alright?"

Sam nodded, his small body heaving with terrified sobs as he silently watched Bobby move around his room, checking for any threats that may have been unseen to the naked, human eye. As he brought a shaking hand up to his eyes to wipe away the tears, he glanced back over at Caleb.

"I fell-"

"Are you hurt?" Caleb pressed.

"I hit my head on the floor."

Caleb shook his head in amazement—for a second he had been scared to death of the demon making another appearance—of it somehow breaking into Sam's room again. Even though that didn't appear to be the case, he wasn't taking any chances, either.

"Was it a nightmare?" Caleb asked, as he glanced over at Bobby, who finally seemed assured that there weren't any demonic forces hiding inside his room.

"Y-Yes," Sam hiccuped.

"Was it the demon?" Bobby asked. "Did you see him?"

"Bobby," Caleb said, looking back over at him and shaking his head.

Now wasn't the time to be interrogating him about what horrors his mind had managed to dredge up. The only thing that mattered to Caleb, was that he was safe and relatively unharmed except for a sore head.

"I saw him," Sam nodded. "He was showing me things-"

"What things?" Bobby asked, while Caleb gave up on trying to halt his questioning, and instead settled for holding Sam close, trying to offer as much comfort to him as he possibly could.

"He—he," Sam trailed off in a series of sobs, as he turned his head into Caleb's chest.

"It's okay," Caleb soothed, as he wrapped his arms around his trembling form. "Bobby, this isn't the time to be grilling him."

"We have to know," Bobby said.

"I know that—but it needs to wait until he's had time to calm down."

The idea that the demon had, once again, managed to pay another visit to Sam's head, was absolutely horrifying to Caleb, but he was determined not to press the already traumatized child, and instead wanted to wait until he had calmed down before they started questioning him.

"Alright," Bobby said uncertainly. "Sam, are you doing okay, kid?"

Sam nodded, still having trouble catching his breath as he allowed Caleb to give him another hug. "Y-yeah I'm okay."

Just like the other nightmare he had had that had starred the demon—it had seemed so _real_—which he knew it was. While he knew that the demon couldn't physically get inside the house, not with the new wards that Bobby had installed there, it had still scared him greatly as he swallowed back the lump in the back of his throat.

"You're safe," Caleb whispered. "It's going to be okay."

At least he could promise him _that_—he knew that Bobby had taken the time to make sure their place in Minnesota was safe, and while that didn't completely eliminate his fears, it still went a long way in calming down the frantic racing of his heart, and the horrific thoughts that his brain seemed determined to host.

"I—I was s—so scared."

"You must have been," Caleb agreed, as he carefully stood with the child still in his arms. "You ready to go downstairs and get some breakfast?" he asked softly.

"What time is it?"

"Around eight in the morning."

"Oh. Yeah, I want to."

"Okay.

* * *

For the rest of the morning, Sam was silent. He quietly ate the breakfast that Caleb offered to him, without much to say other than the automatic "thanks." Even when Dean came downstairs and attempted to tease him like he normally did, he rebuked most of his older brother's efforts.

"What's wrong with him?" Dean whispered to Caleb, as he helped him clear the plates away from the table.

"Your brother had another...visitor this morning."

"_Visitor?"_ Dean repeated blankly, his eyebrows drawing together into a confused line.

"Yellow-Eyes," Caleb softly supplied, as he cast another glance over at Sam. Bobby was leaning toward him, obviously telling him some joke because he could see Sam smile faintly, but nothing like the usual megawatt smile he usually produced.

"He was _here_?" Dean demanded incredulously.

It was unbelievable—either they were going through the worst kind of emotional hell where it concerned Caleb's never-ending legal cases—or Yellow-Eyes was scaring the hell out of his little brother, even if he physically couldn't touch him still.

"Well, in his head, but yes," Caleb said, shaking his head. "He fell out of bed this morning. That's what got our attention," he added, looking over at Bobby, who had finally managed to elicit a laugh out of the nine-year-old.

"Is he _okay_?" Dean whispered, as though he seriously doubted it, especially when he was reminded of how none-responsive his brother had been at the table.

"He's okay," Caleb assured him. "He's a little freaked understandably, but he seems to be fine other than that."

They had narrowly dodged a bullet—if Bobby hadn't gone ahead and installed the wards and sigils on their home, Caleb wasn't sure what would have happened. It was terrifying to imagine it, and so he tried not to.

"If Bobby hadn't installed those wards-"

"I know," Caleb said, as he and Dean glanced over at Sam again, worry clearly etched onto their faces at the idea of what could have happened to him. "We were lucky this time."

"I know."


	46. Chapter 46

Even though so many things had gone against him during the last few months, Caleb tried not to let that negativity affect him, as he and Dawn settled themselves in the courtroom. It wasn't in front of the judge that had granted him bail, for which he was grateful, but it was in front of a judge in family court who would decide if he deserved to have some of his custody rights restored.

It would be a long-shot. Especially with his recent conviction for kidnapping them, but he was hopeful that a judge would see the progress that he had made since his release, and how wonderfully ecstatic the boys were to have him back in their lives.

Still, Dawn had warned him that because of the kidnapping conviction, it would be hard for a judge to agree that he should be allowed to enjoy _any_ legal rights to the boys again. While it didn't matter in the grand scheme of things, not when he and Bobby still, at the time, lived together with them, it would still be nice to have it secured in case the worst possible thing happened again, and something happened to Bobby.

As he and Dawn waited for the judge to make his grand appearance, he heaved a deep sigh, trying to control the nerves that were assaulting his senses as he tried to imagine a good outcome for that day's hearing, and not the dreaded one that he was worried about.

"Are you doing okay?" Dawn whispered, no doubt catching sight of how freaked her client looked.

"I guess."

At least he had the option of walking out of the courtroom—instead of leaving in handcuffs like he had been accustomed to during the last several appearances he had had. The sentencing hearing wasn't for another few weeks, and while he tried to busy himself as much as humanly possible to distract his mind from that, it wasn't altogether realistic.

"Remember," Dawn said, leaning toward him so she would be heard clearly. "Even if we _don't_ get it today, we still have other chances."

"I know—it would just be nice to have these people _finally_ recognize that I _didn't_ abuse these kids."

That had been the _entire_ reason custody had been taken from him in the first place—and the whole reason he had made the decision to run. If it hadn't been for CPS and the principal at the school, he wouldn't be in the situation that he was in now.

"The judge is only human, and it will be hard for him to separate the fact that, legally, you were convicted of abducting them, and then expecting him to give you your custody back."

Caleb nodded. "I can see where that would be an issue," he said with a wry smile. "But like _you_ said, there are circumstances to this whole thing."

"Yes, but-"

"All rise!" The bailiff said, as the occupants inside the courtroom obediently stood for the judge in family court, who would be presiding over the hearing that morning. As they sat back down, Caleb tried to control the outrageous pounding of his heart, as he glanced over at Dawn, and was met only by her calm, cool and collected gaze.

"Good afternoon," the judge said, as he addressed both parties directly. "We are here to discuss the current custody arrangement for Sam and Dean Winchester, and to obtain a progress report on the defendant?" he asked, directing his attention to Dawn, who nodded. "Alright, does the State wish to proceed first?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

Much to Caleb's annoyance, representatives from CPS were also inside the courtroom. No doubt to make a strong campaign as to _why_ he shouldn't be allowed to regain custody, and even though he could understand their concern, especially when they didn't _know_ what he knew, it was still frustrating.

"When it comes to who should be the primary caregiver of Sam and Dean Winchester," CPS's lawyer argued, as he stood and approached the podium to address the judge. "We should be looking at who has their best interests at heart, who will be able to mentally, physically and monetarily provide for them."

As if he _couldn't_ provide them with _any_ of those things—it made Caleb furious—and even though he tried his hardest to reign in most of his emotions, he knew he only partially succeeded as he shook his head.

"These children," he continued, "may not have been abused by the defendant in this case, but that still doesn't mean he didn't break laws when he illegally transported them across the state. Ever since then, their family friend, Bobby Singer, has provided for them and by all accounts, they're thriving."

Caleb rolled his eyes; the kids _were_ thriving, and there was no denying that, but what this foolish man was failing to realize, was that he could provide the same love and support that Bobby could, and had also been with them since day one, ever since John had been killed on his suicide mission to find the demon that had killed their mother.

The lawyer rambled on pointlessly for another half-hour—mainly making the same arguments that he had started out with. The sticking point that he tried his hardest to drive home to the judge, was that Caleb shouldn't be relied on to have custody of the boys, not since he was still facing sentencing for the kidnapping charge, and while Caleb could appreciate his point, it still didn't erase the fact that he deserved it, that the boys wanted him to have guardianship over them again.

When Dawn finally got her chance to approach the podium, Caleb finally heaved a sigh of relief as he tried to block out the CPS lawyer's part of the morning, and tried to solely focus on the arguments that Dawn was making for him.

"Your Honor," she said, as she grasped the edges of the podium. "I can appreciate the concerns that counsel has made in regards to who should retain custody of Sam and Dean, but I also ask that you consider the special circumstances that surround this case.

He was convicted of kidnapping them yes, but we also already stated the reasons for that during the trial. It is on record that Sam _was_ kidnapped by an unknown abductor, and my client was only trying to stop he and the boys from being separated, especially when we didn't know if the boys would be placed in different facilities or not.

It doesn't excuse the action," she said carefully, "but I am asking that you consider the events surrounding the alleged _crime_, and you make a decision based off that. At this point, we are not asking for full custody rights to be reinstated, but we are asking that my client be awarded at least _some_ custodial rights."

Dawn, while going over strategy with Caleb before the hearing, had told him bluntly that he shouldn't expect for full custody to be restored, but to instead expect some form of partial custody, and he was willing to accept that.

"Has your client followed the conditions that were laid out to him by the judge in his criminal case?"

One of the biggest concerns that had followed his release from the jail, was that he had to secure employment in order to remain free on bail. It had been hard, but he had managed to secure a job at a construction company a few miles from the house.

"Yes, and we have proof of employment that we can provide to you."

"Okay, if you could hand the appropriate documents to the court deputy, that would be appreciated."

Dawn nodded, as she handed the proof of employment files over to the bailiff, who then transferred them to the judge for his own viewing confirmation.

"All we're asking for is a chance," Dawn said, once he had finished reading the papers. "He was found not guilty of the charges that originally terminated his rights in the first place, and he has followed through with everything that the court has asked of him."

"I have a problem," the judge said, "with granting him any kind of custody when he has a possible prison sentence that still has to be resolved."

"I understand," Dawn said, "which is why we are asking for 50/50 custody for _now_, and when the proceedings related to the criminal case are resolved, we will make another plea for full custody at that time."

The judge seemed to consider her offer—Caleb wasn't holding his breath. Over his long and varied experiences with the justice system, especially when it concerned the family court and the upside down opinion they had of him, he had come to expect cruelty and judgment from them.

"Would your client be willing to accept regular progress report hearings and random visits by caseworkers from CPS?"

To babysit him and make sure that he wasn't harming the boys, but he didn't care. They had nothing to hide, and as long as he was promised at least some of his rights back, he would be willing to take it. He had come into the hearing expecting nothing, but had gotten 50/50 shared custody with Bobby.

"Yes," Dawn said, after receiving a quick nod of verification from Caleb.

"Alright, then. I'll impose that ruling as of right now, and when and if his sentencing is resolved, and your client is interesting in regaining full custody, we can schedule another hearing."

"Thank you."

* * *

His bid to regain custody of Sam and Dean, had worked out better than he had hoped for. Even if it wasn't the sole custody that he had originally gunned for, at least it was a stepping stone in the right direction for he and his family. Dean, especially, was anxious for him to get his original rights back, and had been asking on a fairly regular basis when it would happen.

At least he would have _something_ to give Dean when he walked through the door—at least he would be able to tell him that he had been semi—successful in his attempts, and that he always had the option of pursuing fuller custody rights later in the future.

"Hey," he said, when he finally walked through the door, and found Dean lounging on the sofa in the living room.

"Hey," Dean said, leaning his head back to glance at Caleb. "You're upside down," he said with a laugh.

"From that angle," Caleb agree with a short laugh of his own. "Where's Sam?"

"He's upstairs with Bobby—he cut his leg."

"Is it serious?" Caleb asked, raising an eyebrow in question.

"No," Dean said with a shake of his head, as he looked back at the magazine he had been reading. "He just scraped it when he was wrestling with me."

"You got to be careful when you guys to do that," Caleb reminded him.

"Yeah, I know. So where were you?"

It had only just dawned on Dean that Caleb had been gone for most of the morning—and while it wasn't unusual to have him be gone for periods of time, he had been sticking close to the house ever since he had been released from the jail.

"I had a court hearing."

"Seriously?" Dean said quietly, as he moved over so Caleb could sit down next to him. "About what?"

The courts and jail system had completely screwed his guardian over—and whenever Dean heard it mentioned, he wanted to throw up. He couldn't think of anyone who deserved this less than Caleb did, and somehow the people who had the power of furthering the torment, couldn't see that.

"It was in family court," Caleb explained, catching the look of trepidation that crossed over Dean's face.

"For what?" Dean asked, finding himself relax in just the slightest.

"Dawn and I were seeing if I could get some of my custody rights reinstated."

"Oh. What did the judge say?"

Not that it should have mattered much to Dean, but Caleb had been the one who had been with he and Sam from day one since their Dad had been killed, and it just didn't seem right that he didn't have some legal rights to them.

"He met me halfway for now."

"What does that mean?"

"He gave me 50/50 shared custody with Bobby. What that means," Caleb explained gently, "is that we have equal rights right now. If, after my criminal case is over, I want to go for sole custody like I had before, I can."

Dean nodded. "That's good, right?"

Any custody that Caleb could be awarded of them, was a good thing in _his_ eyes, but he wasn't sure if that really _was_ a good thing or not.

"It is," Caleb confirmed. "It's much more than I went in hoping for."

"Good. So the only thing we have to worry about is-"

"The sentencing."

"The thorn in our sides," Dean said with an uneasy laugh.

"Well if Dawn can pull out the right deck of cards, the judge will hopefully agree to give me probation instead of more jail time."

"Will he at least _consider_ the fact that you've been in compliance with all of his stupid rules?"

"Hopefully he will."

Even though it had been hard for a number of reasons, Caleb had managed to make it so that he was doing everything that the judge had requested that he do in order to continue remaining out on bail.

"Well," Dean said finally, "I'm glad this morning has been a success."

"Me too, kiddo."


	47. Chapter 47

**Two Months Later**

Apprehension.

Fear.

Anxiety.

Dread.

Anger.

Caleb was pretty sure he was feeling the entire _rainbow_ of negative human emotion as he prepared himself for the next few days. Somehow, much to his amazement, it had been two months since he had been granted a miraculous release by a merciful judge.

But now he was having to face the music again—he had only been free until his sentencing hearing in the kidnapping charge that a cruel jury had convicted him on. Even though he _thought_ he was prepared to face whatever sentence awaited him for that, he wasn't.

Even though he and Bobby had a rock solid plan in motion should he be sentenced to do hard time in prison, it would still be hard to reconcile himself to the fact that he and Bobby would have to go against every single principle they had raised the boys on, in order to do that.

Run.

Make a life for themselves in backwoods cabins and seedy motel rooms. It was the kind of life that they had tried their hardest to shield the boys from, but now recognized they probably didn't have a choice but to do. They could go to the safe house, but it wouldn't be a permanent home base for them, not when the authorities could search it at any time and find him there.

Scrubbing a hand over his face, he sighed deeply as he moved quietly around his bedroom. It had been a long, sleepless night of tossing and turning as he tried to block out any and all thoughts related to the sentencing, and what could possibly happen to him.

Dawn was trying her hardest to secure probation for him instead of more time, but he wasn't holding his breath either. The way the courts worked, especially against him, he was convinced that the state would gun for the judge to impose the harshest sentence of life.

Squeezing the last of the tiredness away from his sore eyes, he looked out the window at the barely awake sun, as it shone weakly from behind the cover of the trees. Obviously it was feeling the need to be lazy that morning, too, as he threw on some clean clothes to start the day with.

"Hey," Dean said, as he met Caleb out in the hallway.

"Hey, dude."

Even though Dean was trying to be brave—not allowing the thought of what could happen to his beloved guardian affect him—Caleb could still see times when it hit him, from the way he would often withdraw, become quieter as he tried to process, in his own way, what was happening to their family. It was an impossible situation that had been made easier by the miraculous reprieve that Caleb had been granted when he had been given bail, but the window of time they had, was closing in on them.

In the next few days he would be facing sentencing for a crime that he hadn't even done—either a judge would take mercy on him and allow him to keep his freedom with probation, or he would be doomed to spend a lifetime behind bars.

Or a lifetime of running.

Either option was horrifying—especially to Caleb—who had vowed that he would never raise the boys like so many other hunters raised their kids. It was exactly the kind of life that went against everything that they had done for the kids, the kind of normal existence that directly contradicted the harshness of the hunting world that so many other kids had to endure.

"Sleep well?" Dean asked, with a subtle raise of his eyebrow as he and Caleb walked down the stairs together.

"It was alright," Caleb said with a shrug, as they walked into the darkened kitchen.

"Awesome."

"What about you?" Caleb asked, as he started the morning cup of coffee that had become absolutely essential for him to survive on, especially during the last several months.

"It was alright," Dean admitted, as he scrubbed a hand over his face, trying to rid himself of the last dregs of exhaustion that usually plagued him in the mornings.

"Where's your brother?" Caleb asked, as he passed over a cup to Dean.

"Still sleeping—I checked before I came down."

With how unpredictable and precarious the YED's movements had been, the guys' paranoia over making sure both boys were protected, had gone into overdrive. While before, they had been allowed to enjoy some freedom in their once secure hometown, no longer was that the case.

The security measures while understandable to Dean, who was used to some of this from when John had been alive, and more recently when YED had taken a sudden, renewed interest in their family, was hard for Sam to understand, who wasn't allowed to have the kind of freedom that he had once been able to have.

"Oh, good."

At least he could be assured of one thing—Sam's safety.

"He slept with me last night."

"Another nightmare?"

Ever since YED had paid Sam another visit—his first in several months—Sam had taken up the habit of sleeping with either his brother or Caleb. They didn't mind it, not if it made him feel safer in a world that had become so dark and scary for him.

"I guess—yeah."

"Is he still sleeping?" Caleb asked, as he casually leaned against the counter.

"Yeah, he was when I left."

"Was it secure?"

"Yeah."

In addition to securing their home against unwanted demonic attacks, Bobby had also taught the boys, especially Dean, how to properly guard their rooms and make sure they were safe. Salt lines would only do half the job when it came to the more powerful foe they faced.

"Good," Caleb said, feeling himself relax a little as he enjoyed the last remains of his coffee drink.

"So what's going on?" Dean asked, perhaps sensing how tense his guardian was that morning, and not entirely knowing why, either.

"My sentencing is coming up in a few days."

"It is?"

Had it really been two months already? They had been incredibly lucky to have been gifted with the return of Caleb by a sympathetic judge who had granted bail, but in the back of his mind, Dean had known that it could only last for so long before the other shoe dropped.

"Yeah. On the first."

"Are you okay?" Dean asked quietly.

"Yeah—I've been better—but I'm okay."

It had been incomparable to have been allowed the chance to reconnect with the boys, but now he had to face the music in court again, and while he was trying his hardest to prepare himself for that, he wasn't altogether sure that he was ready, either.

"Good."

"Bobby and I, we talked about what would happen if it ever came to me being sentenced, right?"

"Yeah," Dean said, shrugging.

From what he had been told by Caleb, he and Bobby had discussed what would happen if he ever got sentenced to do prison, and that had included them running as far from Minnesota as humanely possible.

"Well, we need to talk to Sam about it, too."

"I know."

If anyone would have the toughest time understanding their plan, it would be Sam. For nearly his entire life, he had lived a sheltered, carefree existence in Minnesota that was far removed from the trials and horrors that lived inside other hunter's kids lives.

"Want to do it now?" Dean asked, as he heard Sam moving around upstairs, no doubt having just awoken from a somewhat peaceful night's rest.

"Sure."

* * *

It wasn't often that the guys held family meetings—only when a serious event had happened—or they needed to touch base with the kids about something. Like now, as Sam settled himself between Caleb and Dean, lazily kicking his feet back against the couch as he waited for them to start talking.

"Okay," Caleb said, as he started the talk. "In the next two days or so, I'm going to have to go to my sentencing."

Dean nodded as he bit down on his thumbnail. He tended to avoid thinking about that dreaded hearing as much as he possibly could, but he understood why they needed to talk about it now.

"Has it been two months?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Caleb said, smiling slightly. "Shocking, I know."

"Yeah, no kidding."

Sam had gone through the same confusion and anger that his older brother had gone through—and had been overjoyed to finally have him back again, but the time had gone back so quickly.

"So what we wanted to do," Bobby said, speaking for the first time, "is to update you boys on what we were planning on doing if his hearing goes south."

"What we were thinking, all of us," Caleb said, looking over at Dean and Bobby and then at Sam, "is that if I ended up having to go back to jail, we would stage a prison break-out and then we would go somewhere."

Dean nodded. "I think we should go."

His reaction wasn't surprising—he remembered that time from when he had been running with his father, and while it wasn't the most desirable option, especially when they factored in Sam, it was the only option they had to go on.

"I know," Caleb said, "but there are other things to consider."

What if the demon found them?

What if the FBI still managed to find them?

There was no doubt in Caleb's mind that it would happen—eventually the other shoe would drop and he would be caught, but in his mind it would be worth if it he went down fighting for the people and the kids that he loved with his whole heart.

"Like what?" Sam asked, tilting his head to the side in confusion.

"Like the safety of you kids, and how we made a promise to not raise you kids like that."

"Well," Dean said, as he curled up on the recliner. "Things have changed since you made that deal."

"I know," Caleb said, "which is why we wanted to know what you guys thought."

"Well," Dean said, as he glanced over at them from the comfort of the chair. "You already know what I think."

It would be hard to run, but at least they would still have their family intact—and they wouldn't be faced with losing yet another precious member of their group.

Caleb nodded. "Sam, what do you think?"

Sam shrugged, as he scooted himself close to Caleb. "I don't want to lose you again—and that's what would happen if went to jail, right?"

Caleb nodded hesitantly. "Right. The maximum I could get is life."

"We've already lost a lot," Sam finally said, after a silent moment of contemplation.

"I know, I'm just worried about integrating you into that kind of life-"

Dean sighed, as he finally sat up straighter to face his guardian. "Let me ask you something, okay?"

"Fine," Caleb said with a shrug. "What?"

"Do you love us?"

"Do you even have to ask me that? Of course I do."

Dean nodded. "Do you treat us like we're your own flesh and blood?"

"Yes."

"And do you punish us when we do wrong?"

"Yeah."

"And forgive us for those same mistakes?"

"Yeah."

Dean sighed, swiping away a few stray tears. "And do we have each other's backs no matter what?"

"Of course."

"Then we do it," Dean said. "Then we go. We can't lose another member of this family, Caleb. We can't let some loser cops break apart this family."

"How are you so confident about all this?" Caleb asked with a weak smile.

"Because I'm me."


	48. Chapter 48

Even though Caleb tried to think on the positive side of things like Dean was trying to do—it was nearly impossible—not when he was harshly reminded of the penalty he was facing if an unsympathetic judge decided to slam him with the maximum of life in the state prison.

Dawn doubted it would happen—especially when combined with the facts that it was a first time felony offense—and the mitigating circumstances that she would hammer into the judge's brain before he handed down his decision, but it was still a terrifying, numbing situation to be in.

They were coming down to the last twenty-four hours before he had to appear in the courtroom again for his hearing—and even though he tried to block the next day from his mind as much as possible, it wasn't entirely doable. Especially when he stopped to rest for a moment, and his mind took that as its cue to start assaulting his brain with the worst possible kinds of images.

As he ventured downstairs and started pounding the punching bag—a wonderful stress reliever—and one that he and the boys regularly sought out when the cruelty of the world just got to be a little too much, he tried to prepare himself for what happen the next morning, and the sequence of events that would have to play out in either scenario.

If a judge decided to be lenient with him and give him a long probationary term as opposed to an impossibly cruel (and long) prison stint, they would have more freedom to let the boys enjoy the same sort of obscurity and peace than they would with the other alternative.

If the judge honestly believed the worst in him—that he was honestly cruel enough to kidnap the boys against their will—and hide them from CPS—and imposed the maximum sentence of life, he would either have to accept the completely unacceptable and stay there until his appeal had gone through, or he and Bobby would hatch an escape plan that would carry him out of the state with the boys, but would put the FBI on their tails.

Either option was undesirable—either option was completely terrifying.

As his fist connected with the rough leather of the punching bag, he tried to take some satisfaction from the physical movement, as he finished off the routine with a roundhouse kick, before dropping his gloves and collapsing onto the sofa in the living room.

The meeting that he and Bobby had had with the boys had helped clear at least some of Caleb's worries—at least where their heads were concerned. Dean, not to his surprise, was completely on the side of running, most likely because he remembered that brief period of time where he and John had done that.

Sam had voiced, basically, the same argument that Dean had. They needed to be together—they needed to stay strong as a family, even if the alternative was completely foreign to his innocent mind's eye.

Running wasn't bad—not in the grand scheme of things—it was the danger that they would be put in if they went that route. The demon would have more opportunities to find them, and they would never be completely safe, not with the FBI on their tails if they staged a prison break, and not if the demon would seek out fresh chances to hurt them.

As thick sweat beads poured down his face , he sighed deeply as he tried to reclaim the breath he had lost during the intense workout. It had been exhilarating, and it had been something that he had needed, even if he hadn't been consciously aware of that fact.

It didn't ease the pressing fears that he had over his upcoming sentencing, but it went a long way in preparing him mentally for it, and it went a long way in focusing his mind on something other than what was supposed to happen.

Dawn was gunning for him to get probation—and he hoped that a sympathetic judge would agree with her, and sentence him to a long probation term instead of an impossibly long prison stint.

"Hey," Bobby said, as he came into the room. "Good workout?" he asked, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Yeah," Caleb gasped, as he reached for his water bottle to take a long and satisfying pull from it, needing the nourishment that the liquid could give him.

"Good—the boys are upstairs."

"How are they?" he asked, making room for Bobby to sit down on the sofa next to him.

When they had had their discussion with them—both of the kids had been steadfast in their belief that running was the only option—if only they had any inkling as to what that would entail, and the emotional turmoil they would both suffer through from being uprooted from the only place they had ever really known.

"They're good. Dean's nervous about the sentencing tomorrow."

"We all are," Caleb said with a wry smile.

So much was riding on tomorrow—and it was making him slightly dizzy with all of the wealth of information that Dawn had bestowed upon him.

"Are you doing okay?"

"Define okay."

If things went south in the morning—they would have to put their plan in motion, and Caleb was at a loss as to how he would expect all of them to do that. He understood, and agreed, with the argument that they couldn't be apart anymore.

Not with YED still out there, but it was still incredibly difficult to imagine depending on illegal gambling and hustling to make ends meet, and constantly be on the move from the cops and the demons that would inevitably come seeking them at the drop of a hat.

In Minnesota they had security—safety.

On the road, there was none of that.

"What is Dawn saying?"

"To expect the worst—but to also expect the judge to be sympathetic—especially with the mitigating circumstances that are play here."

It was his only real hope of getting out of the ordeal with nothing more than a probationary term. If the judge agreed that the circumstances that had defined the alleged crime, were severe enough, there was a chance that he would allow him to not have any time spent at all.

Obviously that was something he would pay gold to have happen, but he also wasn't holding his breath. Too much had happened within the legal system for him to have full trust in their judgment anymore.

"What time do you have to be at the courthouse?"

Bobby fully intended on being there to offer his support for his friend that morning.

"Around noon-ish."

"Plenty of time to be prepared," Bobby offered gently.

"I guess."

Even though he was convinced there would be no real "preparing" for it. No matter how much time he was allowed to prepare. His time spent in the county jail had been bad enough, especially when he factored in the enforced separation from the kids.

"Dean said that you guys were going to go out and do some stuff tonight."

"Yeah," Caleb said, with a small smile.

* * *

In an effort to spend as much quality time with the boys as possible, Caleb had arranged for them to go out and do something fun before the horrors of tomorrow reached their already fractured souls.

"That should be fun—you all need to do something nice."

"I know."

And it was.

Even though the pressing fear of being sent back to jail, was always in the back of their minds, Caleb tried not to let that rule the evening, as they ventured to an arcade that the boys favored. It was fun, for once, as the boys took turns playing different arcade-style games, and even got Caleb in on the fun.

The highlight of the evening was the pizza—their favorite food—as they indulged in breadsticks and other sugary drinks to top off the evening. It was nice, fun, something that they enjoyed immensely, although Caleb could see in the quiet way that they, especially Dean, conducted themselves afterwords, that the hearing was back on their minds.

"Hey," Caleb said, as they drove through their town limits back to the house. "You doing okay?"

Dean nodded, raising his head briefly to acknowledge his pressing gaze. "Yeah, I'm good. Just tired."

"You feel good about the talk we had earlier?" Caleb asked, as he turned his head briefly to glance in the backseat, where Sam had fully fallen asleep, after waging an epic battle of wills against he and the rain maker.

"Yeah—it's nice to know what will happen if the worst happens."

"I know," Caleb said, as he scrubbed an exhausted hand over his face. "This is all tentative, but if I get sent back, and it's for a really long time and my appeal somehow doesn't go through, we'll do it."

"Okay."

"It will be okay, kiddo."

"I know—at least you have Dawn pulling you through this."

She had gotten him that far—Dean couldn't see why she wouldn't be able to pull off another miracle and get the ridiculous charge dropped, and spare someone he loved from a nightmarish prison stint.

"I'm lucky."

"Yeah," Dean said quietly, as he took another shot at glancing out the window at the darkening sky.

"You ready to go home?"

"Yeah."


	49. Chapter 49

The morning of Caleb's dreaded sentencing dawned. For a moment, after his brain had propelled him to consciousness, he laid there, hoping against hope to prolong the inevitable that seemed determined to push him out of bed and get him moving.

Sighing against his pillow, he finally rose when it became clear that his body _wouldn't_ allow him the blessed reprieve that he had been hoping for. Moving around his room, he stripped out of the clothes he had fallen asleep in, and into some fresher, cleaner ones.

He would change later for the court hearing—but was determined to start out the day in something that _wasn't _what he normally wore to the courthouse. It seemed, to him, that he had been visiting the courthouse so much recently, that he had his outfit _memorized_.

Trying _not_ to feel the trepidation that was wearing thin on his nerves, he scrubbed a hand over his face as he ventured down to the still dark kitchen. The rest of the occupants inside the house, were still asleep.

A quick look at the clock above the stove, confirmed why. It was only seven in the morning. It was rare that he could pry either of the boys out of their beds before nine, especially if they had had nightmares during the night.

Grateful for the momentary solitude, he tried to enjoy his coffee, while trying not to dwell on the fact that it could be his last coffee as a free man. Even though Dawn had assured him that she would put up a strong argument that he should gain probation instead of prison time, he was realistic when he considered those chances.

When had a convicted child abductor _ever _received probation?

It would be wonderful—especially when he factored in the enforced separation that he and the boys would be forced to go through if he went to prison, but he wasn't so confident about his chances of _actually _obtaining it.

The thought made him sick to his stomach—but it was one that he was hard-pressed to forget. If the State made a big enough deal of him receiving a prison term than a probationary one, the judge would most likely impose it.

He hated this—he hated the uncertainty—he hated the fear for himself _and_ the boys, and he hated the fact that, for some reason, the people that held the ultimate power of deciding his fate, couldn't see the absolute _love _and _adoration _he had for those two boys, and that he would rather throw himself off a cliff than see them get hurt.

It was terrifying to imagine the worst possible outcome—to be taken out of that courtroom by deputies in handcuffs, and be on his way to prison, but it was something he had to prepare himself for, even if it was completely horrific.

"Hey," Dean said, as he finally came down into the kitchen.

"Hey, bud," Caleb said softly, as he finished the last of his coffee. "Want some?"

Dean shrugged, as he settled himself on the chair in front of the island counter. "Yeah, sure."

"How did you sleep?" Caleb asked, as he studied the thirteen-year-old intently.

He was up earlier than he was on most days—and Caleb could see the way he was struggling to hold in his yawns, as he accepted the cup of coffee that Caleb gifted him with.

"Not good."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine—Sam slept with me again."

"Another dream?"

Dean shrugged. "I guess."

"Is he still sleeping?"

Dean shook his head. "No, he's up there getting dressed."

Usually Dean was an open book with him, but when he barely spoke to him unless Caleb initiated the conversation, he knew that something was up, and it wasn't hard to guess what, as Dean suddenly turned away from Caleb, using his shirt sleeve to wipe his eyes.

Out of everyone, Dean had been the that had been the most affected by what had transpired with Caleb and his continued legal battles with the courts. This time, it was worse on him, because he knew the penalty that Caleb was facing if a judge decided to hand down the harshest sentence.

"Are you okay?" Caleb asked, trying to crack through the tough walls that Dean had put up around himself.

No answer; only a shrug.

"Come on," Caleb said. "It's just you and me—let's talk."

"There's nothing to say."

"Well," Caleb said thoughtfully. "Obviously there _is_."

"I'm just tired of this crap happening to us."

"You mean with what's going to happen today?"

Dean nodded, his hazel eyes shining briefly with tears before he determinedly scrubbed them away. "Yeah. It makes me _sick_ to my _stomach_ when I think of what they're doing to you."

Caleb nodded thoughtfully. It made him sick, too. This was his life on the line, and the boys, who would be faced with yet another major loss in their lifetimes.

"It does me, too. We have to, as hard as it may be, to imagine something _good_ coming out of this."

"Like what?" Dean asked, finally turning to face him. "You going back to jail for _life_?"

"No—me getting out on probation—that's what I'm _hoping_ will happen today. That way, we won't have to think about running, we won't have to do anything but sit our butts here."

Dean nodded. "Yeah. I just...I can't go through this anymore."

"You mean with-"

"With having to say goodbye to you at every _single_ turn."

"I don't like it either, Dean," Caleb said, as he started getting the breakfast food together. "I hate it, as a matter of fact, but it's the hand that we've been dealt."

"It doesn't mean that I have to like it," Dean argued.

"I know that."

"When is the-" Dean sighed, trying not to break down completely. "When is the...sentencing?" It was difficult for him to even speak the _words_.

"Around noon. I have to be there a little bit early."

"What time?"

"Around eleven or so."

Dean nodded, biting down on his thumbnail. A nervous habit that he had had for as long as he could remember, and especially now, when everything was going straight to hell, his thumb had been getting quite the workout.

"Alright," he said, his voice cracked.

"We'll have more of a chance to talk about it over breakfast, when Sam comes down to eat."

* * *

Instead of the usual, animated feel that breakfast normally had, it was mostly silent. Each person tense, as they absorbed the weight of what would happen that day, as they quietly ate the food in front of them.

For Dean, it was complete devastation, as he desperately tried to internalize it. Not let it show on the outside, how much this had all affected him. It was hard though, as he furiously bit down on his food, using all the weapons at his arsenal to carry him through that morning.

For Sam, it was confusion. He had only really been "in the life" a short time. It was completely dizzying to him, to realize that people who were supposed to be good, had convicted his beloved guardian based on lies from the prosecution.

"So," Caleb said, as he attempted to start a conversation to the otherwise silent table. "What is everyone's thoughts about all this?"

"About what?" Dean asked, as he twirled the food around the plate, before finally stabbing it with his fork.

"Everything that we talked about."

"You mean yesterday?"

Caleb nodded. "Yeah."

"I want to go—if they expect you to serve time for something that you didn't do, then we absolutely need to go."

It wouldn't be fair, Dean figured, for Caleb to take the fall for something that he had had absolutely _no_ part in. He was not the monstrous abuser that the opposing side had made him out to be, and their family couldn't be divided because of the malicious, wrong allegations made by another.

Caleb nodded thoughtfully, considering Dean's words, and the heavy weight they carried with them. It wasn't fair, and Caleb absolutely recognized that as fact.

"Sam," he said, turning to the nine-year-old. "What are your thoughts on all that we talked about yesterday?"

Sam shrugged, as he distracted himself from answering by picking at the pancakes that he usually loved. "I don't know...I don't want you to leave. I know that."

Sam had only been a year old when John had been killed—the family that he knew with Caleb, Jim and Bobby—was the _only_ one he knew. He didn't know life without one of those guys in his life, and the fact that he had been faced with losing not only Jim, but now Caleb, it was very confusing and upsetting for his brain to comprehend.

"I don't want that, either," Caleb said, shaking his head, as he laid a hand on Sam's shoulder. "I don't want to leave you kids at all. Not for one _second_."

"What about me?" Bobby asked, jokingly, as his mouth spread wide in a teasing grin.

"Shut the hell up," Caleb said with a slightly forced laugh.

"Anyway," Dean said, "if the choice is to either stay here and let you rot, or to leave and take our chances, I'd rather do that."

"Well," Caleb said, "Bobby and I were talking about it late last night-"

"About what?" Dean interjected.

Any "talk" that diverted from the original plan of leaving, made Dean very anxious as he glanced back and forth between Bobby and Caleb, wondering _what_ he had missed out on.

"We were saying," Bobby said cautiously, knowing _just_ what a delicate subject this was for Dean to handle. "That if Caleb were...to get an extended sentence, we would wait a month to do anything until his appeal was heard."

"_Why?"_ Dean asked, even though the logical part of him was understanding the genius behind that idea, especially if Dawn would be able to get it downsized when the time came.

"Because," Caleb said, as he clasped his hands in front of his face, breathing deeply. "If Dawn is able to swing a successful appeal in a few weeks, then this can _all_ go away without having to resort to anything _drastic_."

It was obvious Dean _wasn't_ in favor of that plan—but there was nothing he could do about either—and even though he hated to admit it, the plan made sense. It was just that he didn't want anymore time spent away from Caleb.

"I just don't want this family to be apart anymore," Dean said quietly.

"I know," Caleb said gently, "but this _does_ make sense, doesn't it?" he prodded, trying to appeal to the part of Dean that he _knew_ would see the brilliance in waiting vs jumping the gun on it.

"I guess."

* * *

As he walked into the courtroom with Dawn for the start of the sentencing hearing, Caleb tried to control the frantic racing of his heart. The breakfast had been hard, the goodbye to the kids had been even harder, with Dean not even bothering to hide his tears as he gave him a tight hug goodbye.

Sam, while more subdued than his older brother, was still clearly upset. It was those images that Caleb walked into the semi-crowded room with. Sighing deeply as he settled himself at the defense table, he tried to imagine a positive outcome for the afternoon, as he glanced over at Dawn.

"Hey," he whispered, trying to catch her gaze.

"Hi," she whispered back. "Are you doing okay?"

"Ask me after," he said, swallowing convulsively as he stared at the front of the room where the judge would be making his appearance soon. Whatever decision he made, Caleb realized he would have no choice but to live with it.

Even if the outcome was them, eventually, staging a prison breakout.

Or him roughing it out for a month until a successful appeal went through.

Or even the miraculous outcome of him getting probation.

"All rise!" The bailiff ordered, as the judge entered the room

Once they sat back down, the real panic began, because he knew that it would start now. The prosecution would hammer in their asinine reasons as to why he should be sent to state prison, and Dawn would be making her counter-arguments as to why it shouldn't happen.

"Does the State wish to proceed?" the judge asked, directing his attention to the prosecutor, Mark Williamson.

"Yes, Your Honor."

After that, Caleb had to listen to more than an hour of the prosecution stating their reasons for why a lengthy prison term should be the appropriate outcome. The number one reason was his past criminal history, and the manner in which the boys had been taken.

"Caleb Rivers knew what he was doing when he transported the two boys across the state," Mark said, as he nailed the final nail in the coffin. "He was well aware of the court order, and he committed a federal offense when he decided to kidnap them."

Caleb shook his head, bowing his head briefly to wipe away tears. "No," he whispered, catching the look that Dawn gave him.

"It's okay," she whispered.

"This man," Mark said, "has a history of lying, he has a history of fraud and other charges to his name. It seems that every once in awhile, he ups the ante a little bit, and this time he committed the crime of kidnapping a child."

Once he was done—Dawn finally got _her_ chance to dispute the damage that the prosecution had done. As she got up to talk, Caleb leaned foreword, trying to catch every single word that she spoke. It was his last chance for a judge to give him leniency, and he was hoping that he would.

"He was convicted of kidnapping," Dawn said. "The jury believed that, and that was the decision they made with the power that they held. Now we are here at sentencing. I know, and my client knows, that _some_ sentence has to be imposed, and we respect the burden the court has in following the laws in this state.

Before you make your decision, I am asking that you consider the mitigating circumstances that surround this _entire_ case. It is sealed in police records that Sam Winchester was taken from his school by an unknown abductor. Perhaps my client's actions weren't made with the greatest of judgment, but he was only trying to protect the boys that he adores.

That's all."

Caleb nodded, hoping that the judge would listen to the more sound argument she was presenting, than the insane one that the prosecution was trying to pass off.

"He did not do this out of a malicious reason—he did not kidnap the boys to cause them any harm. He did this out of a deep, deep sense of protection for the boys. The crime should fit the punishment, and the crime that he committed was _not_ your typical case of kidnapping. My client is sorry. We are asking for leniency so this family will be able to be reunited."

After that, it was solely up to the discretion of the judge. As Caleb waited for the final decision to be handed down, he could feel himself hold his breath, his stress level increasing to almost maximum level, as he glanced over at Dawn, and was met by nothing but her calm and reassuring presence.

"Does the defendant wish to make a statement to the court before I impose the sentence?" the judge asked.

He and Dawn had talked about what he would do when presented with the option of making a final statement before the judge handed down his decision, and Dawn hadn't seen the harm in him making a brief statement to the court of apology, and to plead in person for a lighter sentence.

"Yes, Your Honor," Caleb said, as he stood. "I know that there's nothing I can say to change the course of events that brought me here. The only thing I can do is apologize for the problems that this has caused, and for you to know that my intentions were to never bring harm to those kids. I love them, they're my life, and the only thing I can do is to ask you to allow us to be a family again."

Sitting back down, trying desperately to control the influx of tears, he waited for the decision to be handed down. It was nerve-wracking for him, but he tried to control the panic that he could feel, as he watched the judge contemplate the enormous task ahead of him.

"I can understand the special circumstances of this case," the judge said carefully, as he addressed the courtroom. "I can also appreciate the circumstances surrounding this case. I don't know if the defendant is being entirely truthful or not, but the facts of the case that are documented that can excuse the behavior, I can understand."

Caleb held his breath.

"However, I cannot excuse, by the defendant's own words, how he purposefully ignored the court order, and not only did that but was caught outside of Minnesota. No, he may not have been trying to hurt anyone or the children involved, but what he did was still defined as kidnapping."

"Your Honor-" Dawn interjected.

"I am imposing a prison term of twenty-four months. The defendant is remanded into custody."


	50. Chapter 50

Even though it had been the outcome that Caleb had predicted, it still didn't make it any easier for him, as the court deputies cuffed him and led him out of the courtroom. It was horrific, and it was deeply disappointing to him. The stakes had been raised impossibly high now, and he was at a loss as to how to properly deal with the myriad of emotions that were assaulting his senses.

Two years.

It wasn't life—that was about the only bright side to a mind that was overwrought with grief and horror at the sequence of events that had brought him there. It wouldn't be the county jail that he would be calling home for the next month until his appeals hearing.

It would the state _prison_.

The rules would be stricter.

The lines of communication that he had been able to so freely enjoy with the boys in the jail, would be more stringent, and the visits would be supervised under a heavy team of guards. In the eyes of the law (and obviously the judge), he was a kidnapper who had the _worst _of intentions when he had taken the boys.

Obviously this man didn't _know _him—didn't know his complete and undying love for the kids, and how he would die for any of them at a seconds notice. It was numbing as he allowed the guards to transport him back to the county jail where he would be spending the night, before his transfer to the prison the next morning.

As he swallowed back the role of bile that was rapidly rising in the back of his throat, he tried to think of the appeals hearing, and how that would be his only shot at regaining freedom before he either had to wait two years, or go on the run with the boys.

Either of those options was absolutely terrifying—not for _him _necessarily—but for the kids, who would be faced with yet another separation from him, and the knowledge that he would be in _prison _now. It definitely upped the stakes, and it would definitely bring another firestorm of hell down on their family.

A family that had already been through the worst kind of pain imaginable in the last several months. It didn't seem possible that Jim had been gone for only six months, when so much had happened since his passing. YED, Sam's abduction, and now his arrest and imprisonment for a charge that should have _never _been brought to fruition in the first place.

One good thing was that he was granted almost immediate access to Dawn, once he arrived back at the jail. Her presence, while reassuring to him, did little to _actually _soothe the pressing pain in his heart as he stared at her across the table.

"I was hoping I wouldn't have to go back here," he said, as he stared down at his hands. "Obviously that judge wasn't buying our story at _all._"

That, to him, was the understatement of the century. How could a judge, who had heard the same evidence that he had, could come to the rational conclusion that he was only out to hurt the boys? It didn't make sense, and it absolutely gutted him to think about the boys, and the pain they must have been going through in that moment.

"I thought we had a shot," she said quietly. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

He would have _loved _to have blamed her for everything that had transpired that morning, but it wasn't her fault at all. She had pulled out all the cards in her deck to make this go away for him, and somehow a judge who had possessed the ultimate power, hadn't felt the same things that they had.

"So the hearing is in a few weeks."

"Right—what's going to happen there?"

"I'll try to prove that the judge erred when he denied me the right to present contradictory evidence at your arraignment."

"The evidence that could have gotten the charge downgraded to contempt, right?"

"Correct."

Caleb sighed, as he scrubbed a hand over his face. "If the new judge agrees to throw out _this _charge-"

"Then the sentence you have now," she said gently, seeing him wince noticeably when she brought up his new prison term, "will be tossed out, as well."

"To be replaced with the one for contempt?"

"Correct."

It wasn't so bad—there was still light at the end of the tunnel—even though it was nearly impossible to think of it like that, especially when he looked down at the handcuffs and orange jumpsuit. There had been a brief, glorious time when he had thought that he would be free from it, but here he was again.

"Thanks for everything," he said, "and for all you're doing right now."

"You're welcome—it will be okay. We'll figure this out."

"But not in enough time to delay my transfer, right?"

"Right."

Of course—when had luck _ever _swung his way? Especially lately.

"What are our chances of winning the appeal?"

"Fairly well."

"Alright."

* * *

The waiting for the kids, had been just as hard. For Dean, it was nearly unbearable as he took to pacing across the tiled kitchen floor, hoping against impossible hope that the door would swing open and Bobby _and _Caleb would walk through the door with the news that his sentence had been probation, and he was free to be a part of their lives again.

Of course, with everything that had happened, Dean was a little jaded in his beliefs, and while he tried _not _to think on the negative side of things, it was nearly impossible. As he stopped briefly in his movements to glance at the clock, he sighed when he saw that it had only been a short time since they had departed.

"Hi," Bobby said, when he finally walked in through the door.

"What happened?" Dean demanded, as he and Sam beat a path over to Bobby.

"Where's Caleb?" Sam asked, his normally bright and energetic voice, dropping down to a low whisper, as he saw _who _was missing from the group.

"The judge," Bobby hesitated, clearly wondering how he was supposed to inform the boys that, once again, they would be separated from someone they both _adored_. "He sentenced him to do time."

The weight that surrounded his words, was punctuated only by the sharp intake of breath from Sam, and the low sob from Dean, as he brought his hand up to his mouth in an attempt to muffle it, even though it was quickly becoming a lost cause.

"How—how long?" Dean demanded, as his entire frame crumbled with the knowledge that the courts had dropped the ball on them again, and had taken someone so vital and so important from their lives.

It was infuriating.

It was shocking.

And it hurt like hell.

If anyone deserved this _less_ it was Caleb—someone who had been there for them since day one, and had seen to it that they were loved, that they were cared for and that had been the foundation in which they had built their beautiful family on.

"Twenty-four months."

"Which is...?"

"Two years."

Dean shook his head incredulously. "So are we going to break him out?"

That had been the plan from the get-go, and it was the one that offered even the slightest glimmer of hope for him and Sam, as they waited for Bobby's answer.

"If the appeal doesn't go through, yes."

"In the meantime, he's _stuck _there again."

It was sickening to Dean.

"Dean, it will be _okay_," Bobby said firmly.

"How?"

In that time, it seemed completely impossible to him. Caleb, someone who was gentle and kind and _loving _with he and his brother, was on the way to prison for something that he hadn't even _done. _Devastation and anger didn't even _begin _to cover it.

"We still have each other," Bobby reminded him. "It may not seem like much in the grand scheme of things right now, but that is _still _true."

Even if someone vital was missing from their group, they still had their incredible love for one another, and they still had the protection and strength that had sustained them through the absolute worst of times, and the same would prove to hold true now.

"I know," Dean sobbed, "but-"

"We'll be okay, Dean," Sam said confidently, looking over at Bobby for confirmation.

"We'll survive, Dean," Bobby said.

"We _always _survive."

* * *

_So...this sounds like a good place to end this installment. Of course there will be more. I really want to know what my reviewers thought of this one. Were there certain things you liked? Certain things you didn't like? And I also want to say thanks to each and every single one of you. You know who you are, and I honestly couldn't have gotten this far without you guys having my back. _

_Writing the kind of life that Sam and Dean could have had, has been the absolute highlight of my writing experience. It's so great to know that I'm not alone in this. _

_See you on the next one!_

_-Casey_

_3/15/14_


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